The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation
by Lily Zen
Summary: Ghost and Feral move in together. Officially. It's not as smooth a transition as they'd have liked. Takes place after Coming Home.
1. Chapter 1

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 1

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Warnings: relationshippy stuff, angst, etc.

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

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Notes: This story takes place after the events of Coming Home, and deals with, as the title suggests, Ghost and Feral trying to cohabitate. Yes, these stories are getting increasingly domestic, but hold on, they do get back into the action eventually. Also, you will notice that we, the authors, take more and more liberties with SR game rules from here on out. Writing's more fun that way. ;)

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

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"Oh my god," Teva grumbled under her breath as she jumped on top of the suitcase, attempting to use her body weight to flatten it a little more. She fumbled for the zipper and tried to close it; it went a whole four inches before it got stuck. With a huff, Teva rethought her strategy, then laid flat on the side that she was trying to zip, and fumbled it closed halfway around the front, where it got stuck yet again. "You have too much shit," she growled not for the first time, and scooted onto the other half of the suitcase, her weight pushing the contents down so that she could zip it the rest of the way. "Triumph!" she shouted, and promptly let her muscles go lax on top of the suitcase.

This was the third and final safe house that they had gone through, and the one they'd been living in for the past several months. Naturally, the accumulation of shit was a little more than in the other properties that Brandon hadn't spent as much time in. Still, working together they had gone through the other two, figuring out what Bran was keeping, what he was selling, and what he was donating. Teva was there mostly to act as his conscience when he tried keeping stuff that he didn't really need. They'd rented one of those moving pod things to ship the majority of his stuff across the borders, then it would get dropped off at her apartment the day after they arrived. Some would go into her storage unit; some would stay upstairs. She was hoping that they wouldn't need to rent an off-site unit as well, but the way it was looking, they just might.

The first two safe houses had been shown and sold as complete 'runner packages, and the third was due to go up for auction tomorrow, which was why they absolutely needed to finish the packing today.

Finally, after months of living like a guest here, Teva was going to go home and sleep in her own bed. There was relief with that thought, and yet she had to wonder if she was relieved, how Bran must be feeling about leaving. He'd been pretty tight-lipped about it, and she was confident that he was putting on a brave face for her.

The mattress shifted under her as Brandon sat down to fold up another pile of clothes into a different suitcase. She tipped her head back further, looking at him upside down. Reaching out, she touched his arm, then said, "You know that feeling when you're trying to zip yourself into a pair of jeans that's just a smidge too tight, and you lay down to do it then have a hard time getting back up? I totally feel like that right now."

Brandon rewarded her efforts at lightening the mood with a little smile, and he shrugged apologetically. "I know, I have too much stuff."

"No! Well, yes, you do, but I expect that. You're a clotheshorse, and you've lived here your whole life. That's a lot of time to accumulate stuff." Biting her lip, she told him a little quieter, "It's hard, moving for the first time. Trying to pack up your whole world into just what fits in your car." Her mind recalled packing up and selling the apartment she and her family had lived in their whole lives, how much stuff had been in there; how much she'd had to sell and give away before the place was just a bare shell. One Army surplus backpack and three boxes. Everything she'd kept had fit into one backpack and three boxes, and it had all gone in the trunk of her car. Over time the items had been whittled down even further, because her car broke down and she could only keep what she could carry. For nearly two years she lived out of a backpack, unable to settle in any one place. The mementos of her old life were down to a few scraps of paper, some old photos, and a little dish that Tamsin had made which had miraculously survived life on the road.

"Anyway," Teva cleared her throat as the word came out sounding rough, "I just want you to know that I get it-how difficult it is, how scary-and that I appreciate you making the effort. You don't have to, not really. It's safe here now, and you could stay if you wanted to, and I-we could try and make it work long-distance if that'd be something you'd want..." She trailed off. Suddenly exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with manual labor, she went limp again until her head touched the mattress, and she stayed like that, a boneless arch over the mattress, laying on top of the suitcase.

"Hey," Brandon said, reaching out for her hand and giving her fingers a firm squeeze, "I want to do this, okay? It'll be great."

His voice sounded a lot more confident than he actually felt, and he knew she saw right through it. With Teva it sometimes didn't matter how good of an actor he was, she knew him well enough to interpret the acts most of the time. He hadn't quite been himself the closer and closer they got to leaving, and now this was it, the last day, and inside he was in a total panic. Thinking about all the shit he'd packed, he realized he didn't even _need_ most of it. Fuck, he'd left more "important" and sentimental things back at his old apartment when he was trying to dodge Gabe. That had been his _real_ stuff, parts of his long life in L.A., and now he was off to New Orleans with a pod full of shit he just liked to keep around as comforts whenever he was forced to lay low in one of the safe houses.

The thought struck a chord though. _Comforts._ That's exactly why he was dragging all the unnecessary crap with him. He was trying to stuff L.A. into suitcases, pack everything he could that would remind him of home. Life hadn't exactly been full of pleasantries for Brandon growing up in the city, but still, it _was_ home. There had been plenty of good memories there too; ones that helped offset the bad. New Orleans had no memories at all, so he was doing his best to bring some along.

"We got all my journals, right?" he asked for probably the ten thousandth time.

"Yes," Teva assured him also for the ten thousandth time without sounding at all annoyed about it. His angel had the patience of a saint with him right now, and Brandon was that much more grateful to her for that. He needed it. "Your books, paintings, and both your little boxes are in your duffel, plus your pottery stuff. Your weapons are in the other bag next to the couch. Your tablet's on the coffee table."

Okay, that definitely took care of the _most_ important things...except- "What about the hard copy of-"

"Your medical files? That's in _my_ bag. You asked me to hang onto it, remember?" Teva sat up and took the rest of the clothing that he'd forgotten was sitting on his lap, putting it in the suitcase for him. "I have Eric's exercise regime too. Everything that really matters is already packed and ready to go. We just have to finish up in here."

He already knew that, of course, so why was he so frantic?

Because once they were done with that last room, they'd be _done. _Then it was just a matter of getting everything in the car and saying goodbye. They'd already had their last words over at the clinic, and that had been a teary, traumatic event. How was he supposed to get through parting with his adopted grandparents? He'd just _found_ them, for Christ's sake. Then there was Nate. Brandon had asked Teva to run him by the grave site one more time as they'd be heading out of town. It was sort of a silly thought, but he felt like he was abandoning his cousin, like yakking at a slab of stone was the only way to communicate with him. Who would keep him company once Brandon was gone?

"B, you want me to finish this?" Teva asked, interrupting his downward spiral of thoughts.

His first instinct was to protest, to question whether she might forget something, but there was nothing left to forget. The rest of it was just..._stuff._ Clothes he could replace if need be, some shoes he couldn't bend down to pick up off the floor in his closet. Wait, he wanted those. And did he fully check through the bathroom? What was in that bottom cabinet?

"No, I need to help," he answered, and stood up again on the forearm crutches he'd traded his walker for just last week. They were less bulky so he could get into smaller places, and they also forced him to work on his balance a little more, continuing his gradual evolution back into a human being...even though he was still in the chair a lot more than he'd like to be. That stupid thing was going to take up valuable space in the car, space that could've been used for something more important.

_No, your chair is one of the most important things you own right now,_ he reminded himself.

Why as this whole moving thing so fucking hard?

Finally, after far too much time spent biting her tongue as she watched Brandon comb through the apartment time and again, and a few trips to the dumpster to toss out what he'd decided he really didn't need to bring with-mostly that involved weird little odds and ends like an old razor, a mostly empty can of shaving cream, a few pairs of socks with holes in them, et cetera-they were ready to go. The safe house was totally empty of everything except the bare bones of the furniture, and man, that felt weird. For the past few months, this had been Teva's home as well, not just Brandon's, and seeing the desk cleared of all the clutter, the coffee table where she liked to prop her feet up and paint her toe nails while watching and transcribing soap operas for Bran, the empty kitchen where they'd made meals together...it was weird. All of it was weird.

She loaded up the car, playing Tetris with the amount of space they had, and trying to keep the cooler inside so they at least had drinks and snacks readily available-holy fuck, they were about to drive across two countries, essentially, and even after they got through the Pueblo Corp Council territory, it was still a long drive across the Texas panhandle, then down to New Orleans by way of Dallas. All told, it was a thirty hour drive, and that was without stops and border inspections. And there would be border inspections, at least along the main highways. They could avoid them by going far out of the way, but that was just a pain in the ass. So Teva forked out the cash for some high-quality invisibility charms, and slapped them in the false bottom of the trunk with the weapons to keep both magic and technology from finding them.

Accounting for the extra time at the borders, and stops to stretch their legs, it'd probably be closer to thirty-five hours in a car, and that was way too long for any one person to drive. Unfortunately, though Bran's glasses gave him some eyesight, he couldn't see through glass, so letting him take the wheel was out. Mentally, Teva adjusted their route to take them through Lubbock, where they could stop for the night, maybe get a cheap motel room, and crash for a few hours in a bed.

Of course, a route through Aztlan would have taken a few hours less, but the Aztlanian government was suspicious of foreigners, particularly ones without ancestral ties to Aztlanian lands. They had a better chance of getting through the Pueblo territory unharassed than they did Aztlan. Not for the first time, she disparaged the way the political divisions had formed in the Western hemisphere. It made getting anywhere a giant pain in the ass. Even trains had to stop at territory borders and suffer through inspections by authorities, adding hours of travel time to their routes. The only thing safe-ish was air travel, and that was because getting through airport security was a nightmare in and of itself.

She and Brandon drove over to the Reyeses apartment, and parked downstairs in the lot. It was a lot safer than leaving Rena on the street, especially as loaded with goodies as the car was. "Do you want your chair?" Teva asked as she turned off the engine.

"No," Brandon shook his head, "It's only a short walk to the elevator, then their apartment isn't too far from there. I'll be fine." He'd become more and more subdued the closer they got to leaving, and Teva wondered not for the first time if they were truly doing the right thing. After all, coming to New Orleans had been initially suggested as a way to escape a bad situation. Now that the situation was resolved... Brandon had friends here and 'family'; was it right to take him away from all that? Knowing that in New Orleans, his only support system would be her, and what people decided to accept him into the fold, namely her friends? He kept reassuring her that this was what he wanted, but did he really want it? Or was he just doing it for her sake, for the sake of a relationship that may fall apart once there were no more crises to hold it together?

Teva knew she was just working herself up, sliding back into old insecurities. It didn't escape her that Brandon was the first real relationship she'd ever had, and she guessed that she was probably the realest relationship he'd ever had either. Neither of them was particularly experienced with the every-day trials and tribulations of being in a relationship, much less cohabitating, and they were pretty much jumping right into the deep end of the pool with weights strapped to their chests.

Brandon squeezed her hand where she was clutching the shifter and smiled at her. "Come on, let's go up."

"Okay," she agreed, a little weakly to her ears, but who knew? So they got out of the car and locked up, walking slowly to the elevator so they could punch the button to go up. Teva was quiet as they rode the lift, focusing on her breathing while her mind whirled. She prayed she wasn't about to have a panic attack, because that certainly wouldn't be a good way to say 'hello' and 'goodbye' to Brandon's adopted grandparents.

Despite the carpeted hallway, Brandon's crutches echoed off the floor like footsteps on the way the executioner's chamber. Of course, sounds were always enhanced with his earbuds, but it's not like he had them turned up very high. Nope, this had very little to do with the technicalities of his hearing. It was just plain old, simple dread. For the first time in his life since Nate died Brandon had family, and he was about to say goodbye to it.

As loud as the crutches had been, his knock on the door came out astoundingly quiet. Despite that, the wooden barrier that was acting as a shield between his impending departure and the people he didn't want to depart from swung open. Nana took one look at him, turned her head just slightly to look at Teva, and let out one of her sweet little laughs.

"Dios mio, my children, you look so glum. Come, it will not be so bad. This is a good thing!" she chirped and ushered them inside. Tata came out of the back room to join them as nana, in her mother hen fashion, guided Brandon to the couch so he could sit, then was immediately off to the kitchen to get him and Teva refreshments. Brandon couldn't help but smile at that, and the way tata was also eyeing both him and Teva.

"Did somebody die?" he asked, and lowered himself into his recliner.

A small sort of bark burst out of Teva's mouth, and she quickly covered it, seemingly startled by her own noise. "No, I think we're just..."

"Not good at goodbyes," Brandon finished, the humor he was feeling a second ago slipping away again.

Tata looked back and forth between Brandon and Teva again, then up at his wife before standing and tapping Brandon on the arm. "Come with me."

Brandon did as asked, following tata back into the bedroom where the old man closed the door. He had just enough time to look out and catch a glimpse of nana sitting down beside Teva on the couch, drink in hand. It looked like both he and his girl were about to get some last parting advice from the elderly pair, which seemed right. Maybe they could just do this instead of actually saying goodbye.

Teva got the feeling that she should get up and run away very quickly when Carl took Brandon in the bedroom for a little guy talk, and Adelle shuffled over quietly with a cup of hot chocolate, the real stuff with all sorts of spices and milk in it, for each of them. The older woman sat carefully on the couch next to her after Teva had plucked both cups out of her hands, then took hers back.

Mrs. Reyes took a deep drink of her beverage, then sighed happily. "Nothing like a little cocoa as an indulgence."

Cautiously, as though the woman may have poisoned the brew with a truth serum, Teva took a sip as well. The two women stared at each other over their mugs. Adelle smiled slowly, her face wrinkling up like a little raisin in the sun. It made Teva even warier of her intentions.

"You are excited to be going home?" the older woman asked casually.

"Yes," Teva agreed unhesitatingly. She was tired of wearing the same clothes all the time, and living uncertainly in someone else's home, missing her friends and all her favorite places to go; she missed her gym and her sparring partners, and her combat instructors. It was silly, but...it was still there.

"But...?" Adelle gently prompted.

"I know this is hard for Bran, and it makes me feel..."

"Guilty?" Mrs. Reyes offered up when Teva's words stalled out.

"Yeah," she agreed, and took another sip of cocoa. The old lady was right, some hot cocoa was definitely the trick to relaxing. _Note to self._

"There is more," Adelle stated knowingly, a little twinkle in her eyes. "What is it?"

Shooting her a wry grin, Teva shook her head. "Look, as much as I appreciate you trying to help, delving into my psyche is going to take a lot longer than the two minutes we have until Bran and Carl come back in."

Adelle held up a hand, then patted Teva's knee with it. "Very well. I will try to respect your privacy, though I am terribly nosy." She let out a little mischievous cackle, which made Teva smile as well. "Don't worry so much," Mrs. Reyes said as she stood back up, "The two of you will be fine."

"Sit," tata instructed in the bedroom, and waited until Brandon perched on the edge of the mattress, then sat down beside him. "Tell me, be honest, are you not happy with your decision to leave?"

Brandon instantly shook his head. "No, that's not... I _want_ to go. It'll be good for me starting over somewhere else, somewhere new where I don't have anyone that might take advantage of my, uh, condition, or at least nobody that I know. Plus, Teva, you know? She's been wanting to go home for a while now, I can tell. She doesn't say anything about it, but...I can tell."

"And you're choosing to go with her."

Oh, the old man was playing _this_ game, making Brandon sort through the steps in his own head. That was fine, Brandon would play along, see where this went, though he already knew it would wind up with him feeling a lot better about his decision. It always did when he sought out advice from his tata.

"I can't _not_ go," Brandon answered. "Staying here, it wouldn't mean anything if she wasn't with me."

Tata smiled at that. "Then _she_ is your world, not the city you live in. If you are happy with her, you will be happy wherever you are."

Inside, Brandon knew that already. Between going with Teva back to New Orleans and having to watch her walk away at the airport again, hands down he knew what he wanted. There was no way he was ever sending her off without him again, not for anything short of a job that she'd be coming back from (the thought of her not returning from a 'run was neatly locked away in the back of his head somewhere as a non-possibility). Still, though...

"You are scared," tata said quietly, reading Brandon's thoughts.

He snorted a little at that. "Honestly? I'm terrified. Is that normal? I mean, I should be happy, right?"

The laugh that rolled out of his grandfather's mouth was strangely calming, giving Brandon relief instead of making him feel like Mr. Reyes was mocking him in any way. "Ask any man who has been married what the most terrifying day of his life was, and he will always tell you it was his wedding day. It is also the happiest day of his life."

Brandon thought that over for a second, understanding the sentiment completely, but he couldn't help but let his smartass side show a little bit. He needed the little bit of tension release. "Until his wife kicks him out and asks for a divorce. Then it's just the most terrifying and biggest mistake of his life."

"Then he can always go back to the home he started from," tata responded smartly, and wrapped his arm around Brandon's shoulders. "I think you both will be fine, but know there is always a place for you here."

Maybe it was a little bit childish, but Brandon leaned into the hold, and tipped his head a little so it rested against his grandfather's. "You guys should come with us," he half-joked with a sigh. He'd miss these little talks tremendously.

Tata squeezed him a little harder for a second. "But then who would you visit when you fly back home? We'll stay here, hold down the fort. We're only a call or a plane ride away."

"Or we could meet up online somewhere," Brandon suggested, pulling back a little so he could see the look on the old man's face. As expected, he didn't look very enthused with the concept. Mr. Reyes, though no less digitally knowledgeable than the average person in their time, still preferred traditional methods of communication. Jumping into VR on a whim wasn't something he readily did...or _ever_ did as far as Brandon knew. That was why the man's actual answer to the offhanded comment surprised him.

"I might be willing if we met somewhere that looked outside, not in one of those flashy bars," Mr. Reyes grumbled.

Tata's willingness to do that for Brandon touched him on a deeper level than he could imagine, and he couldn't help but fully return the old man's hug. "I would love that," he admitted, his voice a little wispy as he spoke into tata's shoulder. He stayed that way for a long time before he was able to choke out a tight-throated, "Thank you. For everything."

"Thank _you_ for letting two old busybodies feel needed again," tata answered, and unless Brandon was mistaken, the old man's voice also sounded a little tight. After another second, tata broke the embrace and sat Brandon back. "Come. Let's see if the women are done with their talk, then we'll have a proper visit. Nana baked pineapple cake for you. She also insisted on packing you enough food for _three_ trips to your new home."

"Oh, _man_," Brandon groaned in exaggerated fashion despite his smile. "Teva's going to make me ride on the roof to make room for that. She can't turn down nana's food."

"Neither can you," tata pointed out.

Brandon shrugged. "I'll hold it on my lap. It'll all be gone before we reach Albuquerque."

Laughing, tata led the way back out into the front room with Brandon following behind feeling much better about his decision. The old man was right. No one was dead, there were always calls, and Brandon had a home to come back to if things didn't work out. Things _would_ work out though, he was sure of it. His whole world was sitting on the couch chuckling at something nana had said, and as long as she was with him, he'd be fine.

The Reyeses treated that last visit pretty much like any other, which Brandon greatly appreciated. Knowing that Teva hated goodbyes twice as much as he did, he was willing to bet it put her at ease as much as it did him. They joked around, drank hot cocoa, ate cake, and made small talk. The only real difference was that nana sat much closer to Brandon than usual, and kept making contact with him through a light touch on the shoulder, a gentle hand on his knee, a hug to his arm, and other subtle, physical ways of saying goodbye. When it was actually time to leave (and Brandon knew Teva had let him have more time than she had wanted), the Reyeses did that parental thing where they ran through a checklist of everything Teva and Brandon would need to remember for the road, things like, "You have a roll of toilet paper just in case, right? You never know!" Tata hadn't been kidding when he said nana had packed them a lot of food, and with the leftover cake cut up into squares and stored in tupperware ("Which you'd better return to me when you come to visit, young man!"), Brandon had a feeling he really _would_ be riding with the food on his lap. Teva didn't seem to have any objections to that.

They never once said goodbye as Brandon and Teva were headed out. It was all "I'll call" or "Send us pictures" or "Have fun!" and "You better hold tata to his word that he'll chat with me online." The hugs, however, were extra-long, the handshakes extra firm, and nobody's eyes were completely dry by the time the door was shut. On the elevator back down to the car Teva leaned her hand on Brandon's shoulder, her arms too overloaded with food box to do anything more than that.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

He gave her a genuine smile, albeit a little sad. "Better than I thought I'd be, actually. They made it easier on me than I thought."

"Yeah, they're good at that."

All he could do was nod in response. The Reyeses always seemed to know exactly what to do to help cheer him up and he'd miss that. Calling wouldn't quite be the same. Still, he was going to make an effort to call no less than weekly. No offense to the couple's actual family, but Brandon's goal was to do better than them. It was the least he could do for the Reyeses taking him in as one of their own despite who he was and all the hassle he'd put them through during his bad days in recovery. Maybe when he had money again he'd send the pair on a cruise or something. Yeah, a nice, relaxing retreat would be a great way to pay them back for everything.

Back at the car, Teva performed a feat of Tetris magic to get the food stashed in such a way that it didn't have to ride on Brandon's lap after all. He told her she was a genius. She responded by telling him that she knew that and ruffling his hair up, a means to try to lighten up the mood even more. That was good, because they still had one last stop to make.

The cemetery.

Brandon hadn't ever taken Teva to see Nate before, not really being physically able to do so while he'd been regaining his strength. The gravemarker was in a back corner of the grounds, up on a nice little hill where there was a great view of the main city. Like Brandon, Nate had been a city mouse through and through, so Brandon had chosen that particular spot for exactly that reason. The downside of being up on the hill was that the incline was too difficult for Brandon to manage on the crutches. Teva was forced to dig the chair out, which she had kept as accessible as possible, but she still had to do some rearranging to get to it. She complained about that a little, but in that way where she was still trying to take some of seriousness out of the atmosphere. On the actual way up the hill though, both her and Brandon had grown just as quiet as they had been on the lift up to the Reyeses.

Once he was actually confronted with the tombstone, Brandon closed up even more. He didn't really know what to say.

Teva broke the silence first. "Do you want me to...leave you alone or something?"

"Yeah, just," Brandon's voice broke, and he had to take off his glasses for a second to wipe his hand across his eyes. "Give me a minute, okay?"

She gripped his shoulder supportively for a few seconds, then meandered off to check out the view on the other side of the hill. Slowly, Brandon slid down out of his chair so he was kneeling in front of the grave marker, and placed one hand on the stone.

"Hey, big brother," he started, plastering on a smile. "Long time no see. If you've been watching me at all, I guess you already know what happened. I got Lonnie. _We_ got Lonnie. You were definitely there. I was going to bring the gun back up here and bury it with you just so you could hang onto it. Kind of morbid, I know, since that's the one you used to... I still thought you might want it since I got Lonnie with it, but Gabe ran off with it and now it's in some evidence locker somewhere. Sorry. No souvenir."

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Brandon smiled at the look on his angel's face as she peered out over the city. He thought maybe she might miss it a little more than she let on.

"So that's my girl. Teva. I think you would've liked her. She's-" he ducked his head and had to take his glasses off again, making sure to keep his eyes shut, but it didn't stop the stray tears from falling down his cheeks, or his voice from wavering even more as he continued speaking. "You would've told me she was perfect. That's why I know you won't have any hard feelings for me leaving you here so I can go be with her...right? I mean, I'd invite you to come along, but..."

He couldn't crack the joke. This was too hard, and his throat closed up on him for several long seconds. After scrubbing his arm across his eyes again he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little clay piece he'd made at home and fired with a hand torch. It was a simple little thing, just a small replication of one of the journals that Nate had started him on, that had kept Brandon alive even when they failed the very person who invented them. The cover had been painted with Teva's help, a mixture of colors and shapes that had been on all the actual covers of the journals. For a piece small enough to fit inside his pocket it was rather complex; he'd worked on it for several long hours to make it as perfect as possible. He had to leave _something_ behind for his cousin, something meaningful since he wouldn't be there to talk to Nate anymore.

"Here," he choked out. "I made this myself, and Teva, she helped me a lot with the colors. It's probably...stupid, but I wanted you to have something a little more permanent than flowers. You did used to kind of like my paintings, so I thought this...Christ...I can't do this." His hand wouldn't let go of the sculpture. Once he set it down that'd be it, and he'd be leaving his cousin behind for good. Being able to come up here, to talk to the stone, in a way it was like he could still make that connection. Once he left, that link would be severed. After all these years he'd really, truly have to let his big brother go.

A gentle arm snaked over his shoulders, which he hadn't realized had been shaking until then. Teva's hand traced down his wrist to the hand that gripped the clay journal hovering over the dirt, helping him guide the departing gift down to the ground. Once his fingers released their hold on it, he turned and buried his face in her chest, holding her tight. She didn't say anything, just let him cry until he was done, then helped him get back into his chair. Before leaving, she turned back and placed her hand on the tombstone as well, and was quiet for a second before she spoke.

"Thank you for watching over Brandon all these years. I'll take over from here. Enjoy your rest, okay?"

Maybe it was just because he was overemotional at the moment, but in that instant Brandon could've sworn he felt something change in the air. He couldn't say if it was himself letting go, or Nate finally walking away, but it definitely felt different, somewhat peaceful and somewhat lonely at the same time. It made him want to start crying all over again, but instead he simply whispered under his breath, "Bye, big brother."

It was the very first time he'd allowed himself to utter those three words out loud, and it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life.

Watching Brandon say goodbye to his cousin kind of made her feel pretty nostalgic herself. Her mom had been cremated in Bucharest, and her ashes interred at the same cemetery where her parents had been buried. Teva had only gone to see it once on her twenty-second birthday. It was just a plaque on a wall. She remembered being so disappointed by the simplicity of it, by how cool it was. Looking at it, it was just a thin piece of metal with her mother's name engraved on it, and the dates she'd been born and died. There was no emotional connection there. Her mother was gone.

So she didn't quite understand why the thought of not being able to see a slab of stone had Brandon so torn up, but she knew that it did. Obviously, it pained him.

Teva was more of the thought that spirits were everywhere, not bound to a physical marker.

But she said goodbye anyway, because it seemed like Brandon needed to hear the words.

They left LA on a melancholy note, and she drove for four hours before pulling off the freeway into a rest stop parking lot. Both of them got out to stretch, grateful for the reprieve. They ate leftovers from the Reyeses at a picnic table, and talked about anything but how freaked out they were that they were actually doing this, taking this step.

Then it was back in the car for another three hours, when dinner demanded a potty break, and Teva told Brandon, "Why don't you get some sleep. I'm gonna try and drive straight to Lubbock from here. It's gonna be around five hours."

"Alright," he agreed, and reclined his seat back the few inches he could.

It was full dark by that time, and Teva was drinking crappy gas station soycaf out of the hugest size they'd had available while she drove.

As they crossed into Texas, and thereby into the CAS, the car was scanned, but the charms held up to the inspection, and they were allowed through after paying the toll.

Lubbock was dead when she pulled off the freeway and rolled into the city. There was a motel not far off the freeway with a few semis in the lot, a U-Haul-It truck, and some cars. The vacancy sign was still lit up, so she pulled in, and shook Bran's shoulder while stifling a yawn.

He started, murmuring, "Wha?"

"Do you wanna stay here while I check in?" she asked.

Nodding slowly, Brandon murmured, "Need a few minutes to wake up."

"'kay," Teva agreed, sliding out of the car and stretching. She slammed the door. It echoed a little in the quiet parking lot, and the sound of her shoes on the pavement made a steady staccato beat as she walked into the lobby.

The clock above the desk told her that it was nearly three in the morning. The clerk who came out of the back room looked just as tired as she, though he tried for a smile which she just didn't have the energy to return. "I need a room. Preferably wheelchair accessible, but I'll take what I can get," she mumbled, propping her chin in her hand and her elbow on the counter. "And can I get a late check-out?"

"Is one in the afternoon okay? Usually check-out is at noon," the young man replied with that deep Texas twang in his voice.

"Yep," she nodded weakly, and let them scan her comm for payment. "Continental breakfast?"

"'Til eleven am in the sitting room right there," the clerk lifted a finger, pointing at a set of French doors behind her.

"Sweet," Teva sighed, and grabbed the room keys. "Directions?"

"The first door down from the main entrance, second door on the right of the hallway, first floor."

"Thanks, man," Teva grunted in reply as she headed out the door. Brandon still looked hardly awake as she moved the car closer to their room, and she brought in the food, as well as her bag and Brandon's duffle with his toiletries and such in it, and swiped her key over the door lock to push it open. "Oh my god, I'm so tired," she sighed, shoving the food hurriedly in the fridge, and leaving their bags in the closet area so they'd be out of the way.

"Me too," Brandon grunted as he toed off his shoes and socks, and flopped down on the bed. After a moment's thought, he undid his belt buckle, and ditched his pants too.

While he was busy doing that, Teva was stripping off her clothes, and sliding between the sheets, heedless of her own nudity. She wasn't digging through her bag for some pajamas, and she wasn't sleeping in denim shorts either. "Sleep is good," she sighed when Brandon climbed under the sheets with her, hit the light, and took his glasses off.

"Un," he grunted his agreement, and slipped his arm over her waist. That was the last thing either one of them said, and shortly thereafter, they were sound asleep.

* * *

The sound of a child screeching in the room next door startled Brandon awake, giving him that "Where the fuck am I?" panic he hadn't experienced in ages. It passed quickly enough though, his brain catching up to all the little cues his environment was giving him, and he cursed himself for forgetting to ditch the earbuds along with the glasses before he had passed out. They were so small and he was so used to wearing them that half the time he forgot he even had them in. He definitely noticed when they _weren't_ in though. Without them it almost seemed like he was hearing through a set of earmuffs.

At whatever-the-fuck-time-it-was in the morning after a long night of broken, uncomfortable sleep in the car, the muffled version was what he wanted. Children screaming in hyper-sound was not something he wanted to listen to. By the unintelligible sound of Teva's mumbling followed by shoving a pillow over her head, she apparently agreed.

Sans earbuds, Brandon was able to doze for a little while longer until his own traitorous body clock wouldn't allow it anymore. This was one of those occasions when being a natural early riser sucked, the sounds of other people getting up to head out on the road making it that much worse for him to just pass back out. With a defeated sigh, Brandon gave up on the notion of more sleep and took the couple steps that brought him over to his chair, plopping down into it heavily. He may not have been able to get back to sleep, but that didn't mean he had make an effort to walk just yet.

As usual, all his moving around briefly woke Teva back up long enough to murmur something about breakfast, lobby, and bringing her back a bagel or a scone or cereal or all the above. Not like it mattered. Whatever they didn't eat they'd just stash in the box nana gave them or in the cooler for later. That being decided, Brandon was a good boy and made sure to put on pants and shoes before venturing out into the world, nearly rolling over one of the excited children as he pushed himself out into the hallway. They were playing tag or something while mom and dad were packing things up, happy as could be about what was probably their first road trip. Even kids got tired of long car rides and hotel rooms after the novelty of the first few trips wore off.

"Sorry, mister," the older of the boys spat out quickly before continuing the chase. The younger one that almost got run over hadn't even slowed down.

Brandon shook his head, but couldn't help but smile. The joys of youth - something he'd missed out on but not sour enough about it to hate seeing it in others. On the contrary, he enjoyed seeing kids get to be just kids...unless he was supposed to be the one responsible for them, or when they were waking him up at the ass crack of why-am-I-fucking-alive-right-now?

Breakfast. He was supposed to be getting breakfast.

After quickly checking on his car (a mistake, as Mr. Screeching Children decided that would be a good time to ask a million questions about the classic), Brandon was finally able to go peruse the food selection. Taking full, shameless advantage of his chair situation, he was able to get first dibs on a lot items due to people's natural instinct to "help the poor cripple." They were even nice enough to reach things for him that he would've otherwise had to stand up to get. Yeah, the chair did sometimes have its advantages. By the time he left the lobby he had a lap full of food for both himself and Teva, and a much politer, _non-_screeching young girl who volunteered to carry his coffee for him to his room (with responsible mother hovering close by, of course, who made the girl wait out in the hallway for Brandon to bring in the food and come back out for the cups). Zombie Teva stirred enough to consume nourishment before passing back out, during which time Brandon did some of his exercises in the limited room space and took a shower before rolling back out into the world.

Lubbock, one of the bigger cities in Texas, wasn't a place where Brandon could really just go exploring on his own, but Teva had picked a motel just on the outskirts of town, so he was a little freer to get some air without fear of getting dragged off into an alley or something. That was a good thing, because he _really_ didn't want to just sit quietly around the motel until Teva was ready to go, letting his mind fall into all the dreaded "what-ifs" and other fears of relocating. Instead, he went back to talk to the motel clerk who mentioned a little museum just down the street, so Brandon meandered in that direction and cruised around looking at "ancient weapons of the ol' West." He spent a little time in the gift shop where he picked up some postcards completely at random since he couldn't tell what was on them, bought a popup book where he could do things like pull tabs to make little cardboard six shooters spring up out of nowhere (just because he thought it was funny given the fact that he couldn't read normal books anymore), and headed back after getting a mildly irritated comm call from Teva wondering where the fuck he'd wandered off to.

"One of your postcards has a mostly naked cowgirl on it," Teva informed him once he'd gotten back to the motel. He had no idea whether that was a joke or not, but decided he better not pick that one to send off to the Reyeses just in case. He shoved it in his duffel in a different pouch than the other ones.

After a quick lunch consisting of more of nana's food, Brandon helped Teva pack back up the few things they had pulled out of the car, and they were back on the road. He rolled down the window so he could see the landscape as far out as his glasses would allow, made even more difficult with the speed they were racing past everything. According to Teva there wasn't much to see anyway, so he wasn't missing out on anything cool.

Obviously having been bitten by that "I'm almost home" bug, Teva drove the over five hours to Dallas straight through where they stopped for a break and dinner. Brandon decided in the little bit they were there that he liked Dallas. The air traffic in the city was insane compared to what he was used to, with flying shuttles zipping back forth between the high-rises, and the glimpse he caught of the CAS bullet train passing through was fun. A guy at the "All Mexican" taco stand was explaining to him the differences between Aztlaners and Mexicans, all too thrilled to educate an L.A. boy who was only familiar with the Aztlan concept. The workers came out and did a little street dance demo for him and everything, even though honestly Brandon couldn't really tell that much of a difference between Mexican and Aztlaner music. It was something he noted for himself to look closer into though, just in case he ever needed to pull a job in the area. Knowing all the subtle cultural differences in the people he worked with made a huge impact on the believability of his personas.

It was another three hours to Shreveport, and Teva had turned into a chatterbox the moment they crossed the state line into Louisiana. She began telling him anything and everything that he could possibly need to know about the area, becoming his own personal tour guide, and that actually made him really happy about his decision to move. Seeing her virtually light up at the concept of being so close to home made this whole harrowing experience completely worth it, and he was glad that he'd given that to her.

They stopped more on the way through the territory so she could show him things, once in Shreveport, once in Alexandria, they of course had to stop in Baton Rouge, and they finally pulled into Teva's apartment building around four in the morning. Beyond tired by that point, they'd crossed over into that loopy phase where everything was funny, including the fact that Teva almost rammed the car into the garage's security door before her access code could get it open. The fact that Brandon had laughed at that was even funnier considering how paranoid he'd been way back when she'd first started driving his car, and they had to keep shushing each other so they wouldn't wake up the other tenants in the building.

It was due to this loopy tiredness that Brandon would later blame his utter lack of enthusiasm on when he first entered Teva's apartment. "Oh," he had simply said, the disappointment apparently evident in his tone.

"Oh? What does _that_ mean?" Teva was quick to ask.

"Nothing, nothing," Brandon backpedaled. "I like your plants."

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, honestly. She had _told_ him exactly how her place looked back when he was still in the clinic, but for some reason he pictured..._more._ Maybe he was just tired. Yeah. It was definitely the loopy factor.

Deciding just to haul up the really important things for the night (with Teva using Brandon and his chair as a talking moving cart), they made a few trips up and down before they called it quits. Loopy only lasted so long before beyond exhaustion settled in, and Brandon slipped into _Teva's_ bed for the first time ever. Teva's bed, in Teva's room, in Teva's apartment, in Teva's city.

Brandon fell to sleep wondering how long it would take before he could call the place _his_ home too.

* * *

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 2

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Warnings: sexual content

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: There's some sexual content in this chapter. Honestly, you should just always assume that sexual content will be popping up here and there.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

Rolling peacefully onto her side, still mostly asleep, and then down mostly onto her front, leg cocked up, Teva settled in to ignore the light spilling through the blinds. Her arm flung out, seeking a comfortable position, her hand colliding with somebody's face. She gasped awake, and sat up quite abruptly, pushing up on her arms to look at...her significant other, who had an annoyed-slash-confused look on his face. "What the hell?" Brandon muttered and turned over.

She flopped back down on the mattress and groaned into the pillow. It was strange, because for a minute all she'd been aware of was being in her own bed, and it was so comfortable. Her mind had totally blanked out on Brandon entirely. She'd forgotten he was there. She'd forgotten she _had_ a boyfriend. It was like rewinding months and months in time, back when it was just her and she slept alone.

"Angel?"

Teva grunted, but it was the kind of grunt with a question mark at the end, one that meant 'what do you want?' Settling deeper onto the mattress, she moaned. "Oh, baby, I missed you so much..."

"What?" Brandon mumbled sleepily.

Squirming on the mattress, she spread her arms out and kind of embraced it, if such a thing was possible. "You're so comfy and nice. I kinda wanna have sex with you-"

"What?" Brandon sat up a little, sounding more alert. "Are you talking to me?"

"-right now, you comfortable, heavenly mattress, and have your fluffy children," Teva finished, hiding her twitching lips down against the sheets as she tried not to smile or laugh.

"Well," Bran huffed, "Guess I know how I stack up."

"Not at all, 'cause you're not a mattress?" Teva suggested innocently.

"You..." he began in a mock-severe tone, then she was squirming against the mattress for a whole other reason as his hands spidered over her skin, seeking out her sensitive sides, and rolling her over so that he could get at her ribs.

Teva squealed and laughed, making a pretense of trying to get away, then Brandon's arms came around her and hauled her up with a last squeak against his chest. Suddenly, she found herself breathless for a different reason as he caught her lips with his, and softly kissed her. At least it started out soft and undemanding, but as she sighed happily, her lips parted, and he took full advantage, his tongue sweeping in and teasing hers until she was clinging to him and squirming for different reasons.

Brandon pulled away far enough to say, "I'm really pissed that you didn't tell me you were already involved with somebody."

She snorted. "My mattress and I are in a long-term, committed relationship. Warranty's up. No refunds or exchanges."

Groaning exaggeratedly, Bran slid his hand down her back until he cupped one cheek in it. "That's too bad, because I'm not so sure how I feel about sharing." He squeezed her ass just a little bit, and it made her gasp as the action moved her hips in a minuscule motion against him, teasing her most intimate of places.

"I could maybe talk to the mattress; we could work out some kind of schedule," Teva conceded with a little moan as the other hand joined in the first, but then went even lower, and a finger slid shallowly into her moist channel. Her breath hitched as Brandon's finger proceeded to flex a little, and he stroked her inner walls teasingly. He smiled a scant inch from her lips, dark and hot, and Teva knew that the list of about a million things to do was going to be put on hold for a little while.

"You're wet," Bran very nearly purred, or so it seemed to her.

Chuckling, her voice dipping down into the alto range as she got more and more turned on, Teva confided, "I told you I wanted to have sex with the mattress. It's the perfect blend of firm and fluffy. If that can't make my lady parts weep, nothing can."

"Oh?" Brandon's eyebrows arched curiously.

"Mm-hm," she agreed, nodding slowly. Sucking on her bottom lip, she waited out the tense moment as Bran made his decision, and she wasn't at all disappointed when he withdrew his fingertip, and motioned for her to turn a little, tucking her a little ways underneath him as the foreplay started in earnest.

It was shaping up to be a good first day back in New Orleans.

* * *

"Oh my god, why did you let me pack so much stuff?" Brandon whined as he simply dropped his crutches and flopped onto his back on the living room floor, the pile of his belongings spread out all around him. The "very scientific experiment measuring the degree of comfort and springability (Brandon declared it a real word in his mind dictionary) of the mattress" had gone fantastically well, and the following experiment in the shower revolving around space capacity and maneuverability had been moderately successful. Like his old apartment, this one did involve having to step into and out of a tub, creating an obstacle for him that made his current physical situation a little more difficult to deal with. Then again, having bubble bath time with Teva back on his roster was a pro that far outweighed the con.

Breakfast had consisted of coffee and whatever was left of the Reyeses' care package, with Teva once again talking dirty to inanimate objects. Apparently her coffee machine was her _other_ other involved relation, which made Brandon laugh and joke more about if he had known she was running around so much behind his back he would have stayed in L.A. She retaliated by spilling secrets about her couch, her showerhead, and that lawn chair in the closet that she liked to bring out onto the roof of the building. He remembered _that_ one from that letter she'd sent him what felt like eons ago.

After all that fun though, things quickly became..._less_ fun. Unpacking the items from the car had been challenging enough as it was, what with Teva having to rearrange her own stuff first to make room for his. They were able to make quite a bit of space between her bedroom closet, the one in the hallway, and the one in the extra bedroom-turned-gym, but there was still the need to sort everything out so Brandon could find it easily without assistance. He didn't have to be _quite_ as neurotic about how things were organized since he could actually see the style and cuts of his clothing, but there was still the issue with color coordination and design. If he wanted to be able to dress himself without looking like a clown he needed to know where everything was, so unpacking and organizing was a bit more involved than it would have been for a normal person.

They hadn't even gotten through all of that stuff before the pod had arrived, the shippers filling up Teva's living room with the rest of the boxes. Sharing a mutual sigh, Brandon and Teva had begun going through those too, but it seemed to him that the more they unpacked, the more they still had to do. That was what led Brandon to his current station on the floor, cursing himself for suddenly turning into a huge packrat.

"I definitely won't object if you want to get rid of more of this," Teva stated, and pulled a random shirt out of a suitcase. "Like this shirt. Do you really _need_ this shirt?"

Brandon lifted his head enough to glance at it. "Yes. I _like_ that shirt."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You don't even know which one it is."

That was true, but he figured if he had packed it in the first place then it _must_ have been one of the ones he wanted to keep...and there was that packrat mentality all over again. As annoying as that concept was, he was willing to bet he wasn't ready to get rid of _anything_ in any of those boxes just yet, all of his things acting as pacifiers to keep him feeling secure until he got more adjusted to living in New Orleans. Once he got over the initial nervousness he was sure he'd be ready to haul half that shit to the nearest donation center, but for now he'd have to deal with sorting through what he wanted close at hand and what could stay in storage.

And it sucked.

"Hey, you want to take a break?" Teva asked, nudging him in the leg with her foot. "My tummy says we should've had lunch like two hours ago."

"Your tummy is my favorite part of you right now," Brandon said by way of answering. He was hungry too, and more than a little tired. He'd been going back and forth between the chair and his crutches all morning and afternoon depending on what he needed to reach, carry, or maneuver himself around. Moving was a hard enough task physically when a person was healthy; having to do it when he couldn't walk or stand too long without the use of both his arms was exhausting. He was finding that gathering up the energy just to get off the floor for the purposes of eating was proving to be too hard of a task.

"Angel, help me. I'm paralyzed," he moaned, lazily holding out one of his hands.

"Drama queen," she teased, but hauled him to his feet anyway, and practically dragged him over to his chair. Was that necessary? No. His legs worked well enough that he was more than capable of helping her. He was just being difficult for no other reason than to be difficult, but he smiled at her to let her know it was all in good nature. She looked only mildly amused by it, obviously feeling just as tired as he was, which made him feel guilty about all this. She didn't _have_ to let him keep all this stuff, but she did for his sake and was now paying the price for her generosity.

Gently pulling her down so she could sit on his lap, Brandon rolled his chair around a stack of boxes so he could find the door. "What do you want to eat? I'll buy."

"You're broke," Teva pointed out.

He scoffed at that. "I'm not broke! We just sold three safe houses and half my shit! I've got plenty of cred!"

"How much do you owe the clinic again?" she reminded him.

Smiling, Brandon remained completely undaunted by the question. "That's what payment plans are for."

Leaving the apartment and closing the door on all the work that still needed to be done, Brandon let himself pretend that they were just on vacation for the time being. It was much easier thinking he was just taking his girl out for a nice lunch in the city as a tourist instead of as a lost new resident. Tourists didn't have fifty thousand boxes of useless crap to sort through.

"I am taking you for some authentic Louisiana cuisine," Teva decided as they hit the street. "Now, my favorite place to go actually isn't in the city, so we're gonna have to save that for another time. They have a mean crawfish recipe, and a great special on it once a month-stop making that face, you've never even tried it-where I usually don't leave until I've eaten my weight in the little succulent crustaceans."

She was walking next to Brandon now, but watching him carefully to see if she needed to take over pushing. So far he was doing alright, but on the way back to the apartment, he'd probably be all out of energy. Maybe she could con Madden into coming over and hauling stuff.

"Antoine's has been owned and operated by the same family since its opening in 1840," Teva began as they walked down the block, casually leading the way the short distance to the French Quarter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brandon's eyebrows go up as he did the math in his head. "It is a long-standing tradition of New Orleans. Famous people who've dined there include General Patton, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, President Roosevelt of the former United States of America, Pope John Paul the Second, and of course, Hollywood types, most notably Carol Burnett and Judy Garland. It continues to be popular with traveling dignitaries, celebrities, and of course, the locals. Antoine's has some amazing Creole food, B. You don't even know. Unfortunately, since we're going for lunch, they'll only offer a limited menu."

When she noticed the enthusiasm behind Brandon's pushes lagging a little, Teva wordlessly stepped behind him, and started to help.

"Okay, so what do you mean by Creole?" Brandon asked as he relaxed and let her do the work.

"Well, Creole is influenced by French, African, Native American, and Caribbean cooking styles," she answered. "You'll see a lot of seafood, of course, since we're on the water, but also things like chicken done with a béarnaise sauce, or meringue for dessert. Things that have stood the test of time." After a moment's pause, Teva hesitantly began, "It is a little pricey though, since they only serve real food, but I think for your first meal here, and your first real taste of Creole food, you should have the best. This is what you're going to find most commonly down here, so I want you to have a good impression of it."

"Alright," Brandon agreed easily.

"Can I invite Madden?" she asked after another block had passed.

"Yeah, of course," Brandon replied, sounding surprised. "You don't have to ask my permission to see your friends, angel."

"Yay!" Teva cheered and dialed out with her comm. "Madden, you up for some lunch at Antoine's? No, no, I'm buying... What do I want? Why would I want something? Why can't I just buy you lunch, you ingrate? ...Alright, see you in a few." To Brandon, she said unnecessarily, "He'll meet us there."

By the time they got to the old building that had been Antoine's home for over two hundred years, Madden was waiting out front, looking quite dapper with a fedora between his horns, and a white-on-white striped button down tucked into his jeans. "Are we under-dressed?" Brandon quickly asked, catching sight of him.

"No," Teva answered, "We're fine. The dinner jacket dress code doesn't apply until dinner time."

Once they were within arm's reach, Teva squeaked as Madden lifted her into a huge bear hug, one which she returned with gusto, even going so far as to hug him with her legs around his...well, his chest. He was tall enough that even with her height, she looked like a little girl. He set her down with a little grunt on the boardwalk, then ruffled her hair. "Missed ya, kid," he rumbled.

She playfully punched him on the bicep, then reluctantly admitted, "Yeah, whatever, I_ may have _on occasion longed for your oddly Obi-Wan-like ways."

"You missed me," Madden nodded smugly, "It's okay to say it. It's just us here."

Teva glanced around pointedly at the busy crowd moving around them, and on the old street, then back to Madden. They both laughed, then the troll turned his greeting to Brandon, offering his hand. "It's good to see you as well. Brandon, right?"

"Right," Brandon nodded as he took the troll's hand. "And you are?"

"Roshan," the troll answered with a slight accent. "Now you see why I prefer Madden. Ah, but enough talking. It's time for eating." With that, he held open the door for both of them, and Teva passed through, Brandon following behind her.

The maître'd seated them at a table covered with a fine, white linen tablecloth in a vast room. It was one of the main dining areas, of course. The chairs had those spindly, elaborately carved backs, finished with a deep, red-brown tint, and creaked a little as they sat down. It was either because they were so old and the original pieces, or simply because the restaurant was that popular as to cause the reproductions stress. Hard to tell which. The room itself was a beautiful cream color, with sparkling chandeliers and tasteful art. It was an example of the age of opulence that had existed back when New Orleans was run with horse drawn carriages and on the backs of hard-working Afro-Caribbeans and Africans.

Their goblets, genuine glass, were filled with ice water from a silver pitcher, and they were told their server would be with them shortly.

After the man left, Madden, having taken his hat off once they were indoors like a gentleman, looked up at her and said, "So are you going to tell me what the price is now for this little treat?"

Sipping her water, Teva grinned sweetly, and twisted a little more lemon into it. "How would you feel about helping us with some boxes?"

"Ah," Madden nodded sagely while Brandon choked on his water.

"Teva!" he hissed, faintly appalled, "Don't ask him that."

"Why not?" Both she and Madden chorused at the same time. Continuing, Madden gravely intoned, "Teva is my good friend. I want to help her, even if it means taking care of her plants for months at a time, or assisting her in getting you settled in and welcomed to New Orleans. By the way, I didn't mention it before, but welcome. I'm sure you'll come to find New Orleans every bit as charming and unique as we both have. You know, we're both transplants." He nodded to Teva as well.

The waiter finally came, an older woman who none the less looked incredibly friendly and pretty. She smiled at them, her dark hair pulled back from her face in a chignon, revealing laugh lines around her almond shaped eyes. "Good afternoon, everyone. How are you all today?"

"Good, thank you," Madden rumbled, and smiled at her, inadvertently flashing some impressive pearly whites in her direction.

Much to her credit, the server didn't flinch at all, clearly used to dealing with a wide variety of clientele at the restaurant, while Brandon and Teva made appropriate murmurs confirming with Madden. "That's great," the woman replied with a grin, "Well, my name is Ming, and I'll be your server today. Would you like to hear our lunch menu for the day?"

"Yes, please," Teva emphatically agreed.

Ming laughed delightedly, and said, "Wonderful. Okay then, for our appetizers today we're offering charbroiled oysters with garlic and herb seasoning topped with Romano cheese, a wedge salad with bacon vinaigrette and crumbled feta, and Vichyssoise, a cold potato soup flavored with real chicken broth and heavy cream. Our entrees today are Tomato Girabaldi, which is a ripe beefsteak tomato stuffed with shrimp Ravigote and served on a bed of Iceberg lettuce topped with vinaigrette, our famous Louisiana Speckled Trout fried in a light batter and served with toasted almond slivers and a lemon-butter sauce, and Chicken Clemenceau, a sautéed chicken breast served in a French Style sauce with peas, ham, and Brabant potatoes in a casserole. Our chef's special is a center cut lamb chop coated in an asparagus, black truffle, and walnut seasoning. I just got to try it, and I've got to say, it's fantastic. Then finally, for dessert we have pineapple upside-down cake with a rum glaze, meringue glacee with chocolate sauce a la mode, and pecan bread pudding topped with a rum sauce. How about if I go get you some drinks while you think it over?"

"That'd be good," Teva replied a little weakly, her mind whirling with visions of just how much food she wanted to stuff herself with. "Um, how about a white soda?"

"White soda, okay, great," the server made a note on her tablet. "And for you, sir?" She turned to Brandon.

"The same," he replied.

"Alright..." Looking up at Madden again, Mind raised her eyebrow. "Are you sure I can't entice you to try one of our cocktails? With the purchase of an entree, martinis are only one nuyen."

"Then by all means, please get me a martini," Madden agreed with a roguish grin.

It came as some surprise to Teva to realize that Madden was actually flirting with the waitress. As the woman walked away, she smiled smarmily.

"What?" Madden asked.

"Nothing," Teva replied, her voice far too innocent to match her expression.

"What?" he repeated.

Brandon hid a smile in his water glass. Lunch promised to be highly entertaining at least.

Between the three of them they probably ordered a little bit of everything on the menu. That was an exaggeration, of course, but still, Brandon felt like he got a really good introduction to what "real" New Orleans cuisine was supposed to taste like as everyone sort of swapped their dishes around as per Teva's insistence. He had to admit that the food was definitely phenomenal, vastly different from what he was used to in Los Angeles in a good way. That had always been one of his favorite parts about taking jobs in different areas of the world-getting to experience the new tastes. Dessert, of course, was at the top of that list.

The company at lunch had been excellent too. Madden shared lots of stories of anything humorous that had gone down while Teva had been away, then they talked a little bit about art because Brandon was curious about what was hiding inside the frames on the restaurant walls, and entertainment was had by all with the troll's shameless flirting in between their conversations. By the time they were finished with their outing, Brandon had nearly forgotten about all the work they still had to do back at the apartment, still kind of in "enjoy the city/tourist" mode instead of "oh my god, I live here now" mode. Feeling stuffed and happy, he was pretty much ready to just go and pass out for a couple hours.

That couldn't happen though. He was _not_ going to leave Teva and Madden doing all the work unpacking _his_ stuff while he took a nap. He'd progressed past having to nap in the middle of the day weeks ago, his body much more capable of handling the normal physical labors a person had to perform on a daily basis...which didn't typically involve only getting a few hours of sleep at night during not only the drive but the few nerve-wracking days leading up to his having to leave his home.

_Voluntarily,_ he reminded himself. No one forced him to go.

A normal day also didn't involve having to pack up three houses worth of shit, driving across country, and then _unpacking_ all that stuff. Not that all of that happened in a single day by any means, but everything adding up on top of the fact that he was doing all that in crutches and a wheelchair equaled one fairly exhausted cripple. He'd been going strong for a while there, the nervous energy keeping him going, but now that he had actually made it to his new home and it didn't seem like his world was about to end after all, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Again he told himself that it would be incredibly rude. Not to mention the fact that he had to be conscious enough to decide what he needed to have unpacked, where things needed to live to accommodate his vision, and what could go down into the storage unit. He couldn't let Teva decide all that stuff. She'd just shove everything back in the boxes and send it all downstairs.

No, no, she wouldn't. That wasn't fair. Still, she'd have no way of knowing what he needed to have at hand and what he could live without. All progress would stop if he were to exit the unpacking picture, so shaking away thoughts of taking a much needed rest, Brandon put on his alive face and did his best to assist with the rest of the work once they got back to the apartment. Unfortunately, he couldn't hide the fact that he was on his feet for shorter and shorter intervals before having to go back to the chair, or that he wound up saying "I don't care" more and more often as Teva or Madden tried to ask him where he wanted certain things, or his prolonged, ninja-like disappearance into the bathroom where he locked the door and did nothing but lean his head against the sink for a while.

"B, you didn't fall in, did you?" Teva joked outside the door.

Her voice startled him, making him realize how close he was on the verge of passing out. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he splashed some water on his face to wake himself up more before turning to unlock the door.

"No, I'm fine," he answered as he began to roll himself forward.

His chair came up against some resistance, and it took him a much longer second than it should have for him to make the distinction that Teva was holding him in place instead of some inanimate object that he'd run into.

"Forgetting something?" she asked, not in a smartass way, but in a sort of concerned way as she pushed him backwards enough to reach over and retrieve his glasses from the counter where he'd left them. "There isn't that much left. We can finish it tomorrow if you want."

He was reluctant to do that, not when they were so close, but leaving his sight on a bathroom counter was probably a good sign that he was beyond fried. Nodding slowly, he quietly allowed Teva to push him into the bedroom where he pretty much just rolled himself up onto the mattress, not caring that it was rude of him not to say thank you or goodbye to Madden. He didn't have much time to think about that anyway. He fell asleep curled up exactly how he'd landed, fully clothed and his head not even having found a pillow.

Closing the bedroom door quietly, Teva made her way back to Madden, who was waiting on the couch with a beer in hand and another one on the table in front of him. She swiped it up ruthlessly, the condensation on the green glass wetting her hand, and twisted the cap off as she sat down next to her friend. "He's wiped," she said needlessly, and took a long drink of the bitter brew.

With a nod, Madden admitted, "I could tell. He was fighting it though."

"I know," Teva sighed. "Sometimes I just want to smack him for being so damn stubborn."

The troll took a large swallow from his own bottle. "I'm impressed at your self-control." There was a hint of a smile hovering around his mouth. "In all honesty, I'm kind of impressed with the two of you in general."

"Why's that?" she replied, sliding her fingernails a little nervously over her left thigh just to hear the scratchy sound it made on her jeans.

"Everything you are is pretty much tied up in your body, in being able to move, and he..."

"Is not exactly mobile at this point in time?" Teva finished for him, throwing Madden a bone when he seemed like he didn't quite know how to word himself.

"Yes," Madden nodded, then shot her an apologetic look. "Forgive me for saying so."

Shrugging, she told him, "No, I get it. It does seem weird. But it's not like I set out to fall in love with a guy stuck in a wheelchair. That's temporary. He's getting better with more time that passes. He still tires a little easily, and likes to pretend that he doesn't. Honestly, if we hadn't just driven across the country, he'd have a little more energy. Anyway, eventually he'll recover his full walking abilities. His eyesight is another matter."

"Is it permanent?" Madden wondered, but not unkindly.

"Maybe," Teva admitted, "Though we don't ever say that, because we don't want to take away his hope. But it might be, despite all the treatments and tests, and I know he loves his glasses because they let him see, sort of, but I worry if maybe becoming reliant on those impacts his recovery." She lifted her bottle to her lips once again, then shook a cigarette out of the pack she'd dumped on the coffee table earlier.

"Why do you say that?" Her friend asked as she lit up.

Exhaling, she told him, "I don't know, maybe using it is sending a subconscious message to his brain that he doesn't have to re-route visual information to another part of his brain anymore. He's not totally blind you know, just mostly. It's pretty much just a gray blur, but sometimes he can see color and motion. The doc said maybe if his brain just figured out how to re-route the signal to an undamaged area, he'd start recovering more of his sight." Teva rolled the little cylinder between her fingers thoughtfully, then took another drag. "I'm just wondering if 'seeing'," she quoted with one hand, then lifted up her beer from the table for another drink, "has stopped what progress he was making, but there's no way for me to ask that in front of him. Which reminds me, we need to find him a doctor here. Doctor Peters, from his clinic in LA, recommended some DocWagon physicians down here, but I think Bran would feel more comfortable if he could meet with them all first before transferring to anyone's care. We should make appointments tomorrow before we're scrambling at the last minute before his treatment's due."

Madden patted her knee sympathetically.

She kept on talking, apparently having needed someone to spill all of this out to for some time now. "You should see it, it's awful. He has to get an injection at the base of his skull, and it isn't some tiny little needle either. Normally, they'd use a local on him, numb him up, but Bran's a recovering drug abuser so he's hesitant to even take regular pain killers. He just toughs through it without, and I know it's gotta be one of the most painful things on earth because my hand has gone numb from the way he grips it. Once, I thought he broke something. Then a couple hours later the seizures start, and he pretty much spends the next day in the hospital shaking uncontrollably. It's..." Teva stalled out, blinking back tears.

Very, very gently, a huge hand cupped the back of her head, and guided it onto a massive shoulder. She blinked, inhaling the scent of the subtle cologne Madden preferred, and the musky odor of him mixing with his spicy scented deodorant and cool cotton threads. Her cigarette went unsmoked in her hand as Teva wordlessly accepted the comfort.

An untold amount of time later, she finally raised her hand, and dropped the long barrel of ash into the leaf shaped ash tray. Sniffing perfunctorily, Teva stood up and mumbled "Thanks" while she collected the warm beer bottles and dumped them out.

"No problem," Madden replied as he lumbered to a standing position. "If you need more help, just call." With that, they said goodbye for the night.

* * *

Brandon woke up the next morning (he assumed) with that heavy, groggy feeling that came with either getting _too_ much sleep, or still not having quite gotten enough. He had a vague memory of Teva coming back in at some point to ask him if he wanted any sort of late dinner, to which he thought he grunted some sort of non-answer before his brain shut down too much to remember anymore. She'd apparently managed to get him somewhat undressed and laying in the bed properly without him realizing it, as he found himself waking beneath the covers hugging a pillow against his chest. Teva didn't appear to be in the bed anymore. That meant either he'd slept in _really_ late, or for some reason she'd decided to get up early.

"Angel?" he called out lazily, using the heel of his hand to rub the sleep out his eyes.

He heard her coming down the hall and stop in the doorway, and he could smell the coffee in her hands. "It's _aliiiive!_" she drew out like the doctor in the Frankenstein movie. Wait. The doctor _was_ Frankenstein in that movie...and the book, of course. He'd read that once.

He wasn't awake enough yet for this heavy thinking business. "How long was I out?" he asked, making an effort to sit up. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table, fumbling slightly as he realized he was more centered on the bed than he had thought and had to lean a little further to get to them. His red vision turned on to see Teva holding out a cup of caffeine for him, a bit of a role reversal from their normal morning routine.

"Almost fourteen hours," she answered him. "Thought maybe you decided to go coma again."

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled. No wonder he felt groggy. That was _way_ too much sleep. "You should've woken me up sooner."

She scoffed at that. "I _did_. Three times. That last time I'm pretty sure you went a little _Exorcist_ on me."

"I did not," he argued.

"Oh yeah, head spinning around, green vomit, speaking in tongues; pretty scary stuff." She sat down beside him on the mattress, sipping at her black sludge and grinning at the bewildered look he knew was plastered on his face. "Okay, so there was no vomit, but there was some definite demonic speech."

"Hm, must've been more tired than I thought. Sorry." He took a tentative taste of his coffee, relieved that it wasn't too hot to drink and that she had sweetened it just the way he liked it. A couple swallows of the liquid breakfast had him waking up a little more and already starting to feel a little better, giving him back some of that energy he'd need to face his second day in New Orleans.

Teva placed her hand on his thigh and rubbed it up and down his leg a couple times. "You had a rough day," she said by way of excusing his behavior.

He leaned his head back against the carved, wooden board, one of the few pieces of furniture in Teva's apartment that actually had any life to it. "Had a rough year," he sighed, wondering if last night's prolonged sleep was some subconscious way of shedding off his old life to make way for his new one, like a mini metamorphosis. He'd just gone through a whole caterpillar, cocoon, butterfly thing in one night...or maybe something less girly than a butterfly. Whatever, the point was that after all that sleep and a little caffeinated assistance, he felt a little more ready to start over.

They took it a little slow the rest of the morning, getting everything else put away to the best of their ability. Teva did wind up calling Madden back to help haul the remaining boxes downstairs that Brandon decided he could live without (after pulling some things out of them that he had inadvertently "I don't care'd" the night before in his exhaustion). It also gave Brandon a chance to properly thank the troll, and to apologize for his flub in social etiquette. As expected, Madden waved it off completely, but didn't oppose to Brandon's offer to buy lunch that day in return for all the help. Brandon ignored the look Teva shot him, knowing she wouldn't bring up his financial obligations in front of Madden. She'd already weaseled her way into covering the check the day before despite his offer to do so, and he was determined that she wouldn't get away with it today. Much like Switch had done months ago, Brandon was going to fight living solely off his girlfriend's money as much as he could. He'd be able to get by for a while with what he'd earned off the recent property sales, meaning he could afford to make his monthly payments and still have a little left over for play here and there. Unless Teva wanted him to pay half her rent or something...that could put a dent in his budget. Now that he was thinking about it, it occurred to him that he probably _should _offer to pay half of the living expenses. It wouldn't be fair not to.

That discussion would have to happen later though, after lunch. Teva led the way to a little shopping center down the street where there was a basic burger joint. She'd picked somewhere cheaper for his sake, he knew, but it was still pretty good. It also gave him an opportunity to check out what was closer to home so that when he was more mobile he could get himself around. The three of them meandered through a couple of the stores after lunch, then Madden had to take off to go do something "important" (which Teva translated to him not wanting to miss what was supposedly going to be an intense episode of his favorite soap).

Brandon had wanted to bring up the whole rent question once they got back, but Teva had jumped in first with an entirely different "need to discuss" issue- his new doctor. That was something he had been intentionally putting off dealing with, but time had a way of slipping past right under a person's nose. He was down to once a month treatments now, but half that time had already gone by without him even _thinking_ about whom he'd want to replace Peters.

Not _replace,_ but stand in for. Peters was the best damn doctor Brandon had ever had, and he'd told the old man that the day they had to say goodbye. He should've said it more often. Now he had to start all over again with some stranger, and the thought of being strapped down to that stupid table with a whole staff of people he didn't know touching him put a knot in his stomach. Then there'd be the way they handled his seizures. What if they didn't know what they were doing and he wound up hurting himself again? Or what if they wouldn't let Teva sit with him? As much as he had fought her being there to see it back at the beginning, he found her presence to be the best thing to help him relax during those few moments of lucidity he experienced between episodes. Now that he was used to it, he didn't _want_ her to be gone. And, shit, what if they wouldn't let her stay during his injection? That couldn't happen. He _needed_ her there for that. He'd go into a panic if he didn't have someone he knew standing by to hold his hand, and if he panicked on the table while there was a needle shoved into his brain, that could kill him. Then there was the possibility that his new doctor might just up and tell him that he'd never see again. Maybe they wouldn't even conduct the light or color tests, thinking it to be a waste of time. Peters wouldn't let Brandon believe it was a lost cause, but Peters had known him for a long time, long enough to call him "son" in such a way that meant something. The new doctor had no reason to care like that, had no reason to let Brandon hang on to that little glimmer of hope that he so desperately needed. What would happen if the new doctor just up and told him "Sorry, kid, you're blind; get used to it?"

"We have a list, remember?" Teva said, breaking Brandon out of his cycle of worries. "Peters wouldn't have recommended anybody that wouldn't be a good fit for us."

_Us,_ she had said. Brandon relaxed the grip that he had unknowingly been applying to the arms of his chair. She was right. Peters knew how important it was for Brandon to have Teva there with him. That was at least one concern he shouldn't have to worry about, which was honestly the biggest one. Everything else could be dealt with as long as she was in the room with him, doing her whole guardian angel thing when he couldn't look out for himself.

Keeping the comm on speaker so both Brandon and Teva could ask questions, they went through the list of possible doctors that Peters had given them. It hadn't been a very long one as it was, but they were able to knock off two of those clinics right off the bat just by the way the receptionist spoke with them. Knowing that those people behind the desk also served as nurses or medical assistants, neither Brandon nor Teva wanted to risk having someone that was rude on the phone act as one of the possible people caring for him. His treatment and seizures were hard enough on both of them as it was; throwing a bitchy nurse into the mix was an unnecessary complication that they were aiming to avoid.

With all the unpacking done, and the schedule for the next two days filled up with clinic visits and doctor meets, there was nothing left to do for the day but relax. That lasted all of ten minutes before it became clear that Teva was still running on "We have a million things to do" mode, not quite ready to settle into the fact that they were pretty much done with all the important business and could just start their lives as a normal couple.

"We should get groceries," she blurted out. "And, hey, I can drive my own car! I miss my car. I can do whatever I want with it, and you can't make cringe-face about anything because it's not yours."

"That is absolutely true," he smirked. "I couldn't give a shit less what you do to your car."

"Good, then I'm going to drive extra fast and recklessly."

"Fine." She wasn't going to win that one. He really, truly didn't care as long as it wasn't his car at risk. Plus, he knew she wouldn't drive in such a way that she'd get them both killed. No fear. Realizing that, she gave in and just pushed him towards the door.

Okay, fun grocery trip first, _then_ he could ask about the rent, which he knew would probably turn into a mini argument. She'd tell him not to worry about it, most likely, but then he'd feel bad. He didn't want to be the charity case, deadbeat boyfriend. If she won the argument, then he'd still feel like the deadbeat boyfriend. If he won the argument then he'd have the added stress of worrying more about his finances. Either way it was a lose/lose for him, so he was willing to put off the final results of that argument as long as possible.

* * *

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 3

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

Grocery shopping was fairly uneventful. It was nice to be able to go to her favorite store though and know her way around, know exactly what she wanted instead of weaving up and down every aisle looking for it, or worse, stand there for five minutes comparing prices and brands and nutrition facts. It was also nice to drive her own car there, and she took great pleasure in showing off what she liked to call the 'chameleon factor' of her car to Bran, even though he could hardly tell the color was changing.

At one point, taking in her gleeful expression, Brandon commented idly, "You know, for a woman who can barely operate her comm-"

"Hey!"

"-you certainly take great joy in tricking out your ride."

"That was just uncalled for," Teva huffed, and settled into silence for the rest of the way.

Then, of course, came the fun part: bringing it all upstairs and putting things away. The kitchen had been empty when they got back, so even loading up Brandon's chair with bags, it took them two trips. While she was handling the upper cabinets, Brandon brought up the issue of finances.

She'd known it was coming, but had hoped maybe they could talk about it some other time. Luckily, her face was turned away so that when he hesitantly said, "Hey, so I was thinking about rent and stuff..." the only witness to her grimace was the inside of the cabinet.

"Do we have to talk about this?" Teva blurted out without forethought.

"Kind of," Brandon replied while he handled putting things away in the fridge. "I mean, it's sort of important."

She sighed. "Alright, hit me. What are ya thinkin'?"

"I should pay half the expenses," he said.

"Yeah, probably," Teva agreed, turning just in time to catch Bran's surprised face. "But you have no income, so why don't we start with say...a three month grace period, while you settle in here and figure out how you're going to make money, then once you start working, you can start paying some bills."

"Um...that's generous," Brandon hesitantly agreed, "But I-"

"Bran, use your brain," Teva interrupted, hopping off the counter to go grab another bag of non-fridge-bound items. "You're not making any money, so giving me money right now, on top of all your medical bills, is not a sound plan. For the time being, I'm fine. We're fine. We've got time before you need to hit financial panic mode, okay?" And as far as Teva was concerned, that was the end of that conversation.

Brandon knew by the tone in her voice that arguing about it further than that would be a lost cause. Honestly, it hadn't gone nearly as bad as he'd feared; not bad at all, actually. She'd probably already thought ahead of him on that one, coming up with her compromise before it had even occurred to him to worry about it. Mooching off his girlfriend for three months still felt a bit shameful, but being given a deadline to sort things out made him feel better about it. That last thing he wanted was for Teva to feel like he was planning on living off her income forever.

That settled, Brandon purposefully neglected to put away the tub of ice cream, intent on taking the whole thing out to the living room with him.

"Uh-uh, stop right there," Teva ordered.

He turned back, looking perfectly innocent. "What? I was going to share."

"Exactly my point," she stated, and took the tub away from him. "You sharing usually equals me getting ice cream somewhere on me that isn't my mouth, and that couch is too new to get all ice cream stickified. We're eating out of bowls like normal adults. At the kitchen counter."

"Killjoy," he grumbled while she dished them up, but it was said in good humor. Crawling up onto the barstool, he waited patiently for her to serve him, sit down beside him, and eat a few bites before he smeared a glob of the cold dessert on her nose just because.

"Oh, you are so dead," she playfully growled, then proceeded to demonstrate _exactly_ why they were never to share ice cream on the couch.

And just like that, things seemed to fall into place with their relationship as if nothing had changed. After they showered off the sticky, sugary mess, they called it an early night, this time both of them falling asleep comfortably in each other's arms. Brandon woke up at his normal early time the next day, which was actually later than normal in New Orleans given the change in time zones, but since Teva was also still functioning on the L.A. clock it didn't really matter. He took a little longer than usual making breakfast since he had to first figure out where everything lived in her kitchen, some of her organization not making the slightest bit of sense to him, but it was her place so he couldn't really complain...and woke up his grumpy bear with syrupy pancakes and knock-off bacon, plus hash browns that were supposedly made from real potatoes if the bag wasn't lying. They ate in contented silence on the bed like usual, but when Teva moved to light up a cigarette, Brandon gathered up the dishes and quickly excused himself from the room. At his place she'd always smoked out the window, but this wasn't his place anymore. He didn't have any say over where she decided to indulge in her habits.

Once they had both gotten ready, the rest of the day was pretty much spent bouncing around clinics. Both Brandon and Teva had a constant line of questions for the medical staff, most of them seeming friendly enough, and the ones that weren't got their names crossed off the list. In one of the places the treatment room was much smaller than Brandon was comfortable with, in another he was informed that he'd be sharing a room with another patient with nothing but a curtain separating them during Seizure Day. Those two places got canned. That only left them with one option on that day's list of appointments, an ancient, but very pleasant Russian man named Dr. Bobrik who preferred to be called Dr. Bob. Brandon liked him. He was funny, making light of everything, yet still answering the questions in a way that made Brandon feel like the guy really knew what he was doing. The facility was fairly average, nothing to write home about, but it wasn't like Brandon was expecting a fancy spa or anything. His own clinic back in L.A. wasn't exactly celebrity material either. Just like there, he'd have his own room for recovery, their treatment room met his specs, and the rest of the staff was pretty much just as friendly and happy as Dr. Bob. For the first day, at least, this was the clinic that Brandon was most satisfied with.

The second day of interrogations went about as well as the first, but there were even less people to meet. The first place they went to was also pretty on par with what Brandon was looking for, and the doctor there was a younger woman named Dr. Jillian. She was a bit more down to earth, kind enough, but seemed to take her job much more seriously than Dr. Bob did. Brandon honestly didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, as her bedside manner didn't come off as being quite as friendly. At the same time though, these people hadn't seen him on Seizure Day just yet. Maybe it'd be better to have someone that didn't make light of everything. Then again, maybe she was more serious because she was less experienced in the field and had to focus more so as not to make mistakes. He'd have to think about it.

The other places weren't bad, but not great either. In the end, after sleeping on it for another day, Brandon decided to go with more experience and lighter attitude, booking his appointment with Dr. Bob. Teva didn't seem to have any objections, which put him at ease about his decision a little more. Now all he had to focus on for the next week and a half was trying to become a New Orleans citizen. That was a much better concept to keep his brain busy with than fretting about his first treatment with a new doctor.

Days passed quickly as they were swept up in getting settled in. Teva showed Brandon as much of the city as he could handle each day, taking him to different areas and pointing out not only the old, historic sites, but those that were new and popular. "Most of the trains are above ground," she'd pointed out to him, "because much of New Orleans is built on top of old catacombs and tunnels. Trying to dig those up would compromise the integrity of the structures on top of them, so you'll only find subway stations in the newer areas of the city."

Saturday night they drove out of the city, where Teva had fun breaking all the traffic laws she could manage in a twenty minute time span, to Clement's, where they ate two buckets-literally, buckets-of crawfish cooked to perfection, and listened to the ululating vocal styles of an old zydeco man whose jam session consisted of some Tex-Mex guitarists, a smoky sax player, and some Afro-Caribbean drumming. After overcoming his initial reluctance, Brandon actually seemed to like it.

Teva worked on setting up her lessons then, introducing Brandon to her weapons master, Kito, an ancient-looking orc whose hair had long gone white, making his skin look even grayer. "He's super cool," she marveled to Brandon in private, "All those lessons I was taking on Saturday? He's an expert in all those styles and more. It's incredible." Her voice was filled with the unmistakable gush of a fan.

Madden and Red were invited out for dinner one night, which went well. Everyone was polite and had a good time, and most importantly, Brandon had no idea that she and Red had slept together. The elf was as good as his word to forget about the incident entirely.

On a separate night, Teva talked Bran into going out for drinks-nothing alcoholic for him, of course-at a bar called Swizzle Sticks. It was a pretty low-key affair that served coffee just as much as beer, and had an open mic poetry night. He met some of her not-close friends there-Dean, a tall, thin guy with a mohawk left ungelled so it flopped over to one side, and his partner, Kel, an Asian man who was as tiny as Dean was tall. There was a girl with short, multi-colored hair, Laila, an extremely tall Creole elf with a shaved head and exotic features who was also introduced as being the owner to the beauty supply store that Teva frequented, and a curly-haired redhead with glasses and a beard who organized the poetry recitations. It was a nice night filled with interesting conversation, and coffee-flavored liqueurs for Teva, and actual coffee for Brandon.

Of course, they did spend a lot of time just the two of them-and only a very small fraction of that in bed! There was plenty to do around the apartment. Teva had left all those months ago in a hurry, so she still had laundry to do. She took that opportunity to show Brandon the first floor laundry room. Technically, her building considered it the basement, but since their actual basement was a parking garage, the stereotypical 'basement laundry room' became the 'first floor laundry room.' "Takes cred, of course," she complained good naturedly, "but it's cheaper than hauling it all to the laundromat. You just gotta watch out 'cause there are a few douchebags in this building that'll take your clothes out of the washer and just leave them on top of the dryer if you're late switching loads. Fuckers. And once somebody stole my underwear, but I think that guy got evicted. Not for that, obviously, but you know, for some other weird behavior."

She also showed Brandon the roof, which had a surprisingly good view of the area, and was quick to point out the pot farm in the little greenhouse on the corner of the roof. "That's the landlord's. Don't fuck with that. He'll get mad. And don't come up here between the hours of ten and noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That's when he comes to take care of his plants, and he doesn't like tenants up here."

"We have solar panels, as you can see," Teva drawled, pointing them out on another part of the roof. "Ostensibly so we can have cheaper electric bills, but it's really for the greenhouse. Not that we don't get some of the solar power, but our landlord doesn't give a shit about getting us a discount. If he could, he'd route it all to the greenhouse, but the apartment building has to have access to it otherwise he loses his tax cut."

Which was not to say that they didn't spend time naked at all. In fact, they had their first bubble bath together in a long while, and it went very well. Her bathtub was large and old, installed before 'water conservation' was even in people's vocabulary, much less a concern. The frothy water smelled like honey and other sweet things, which she'd chosen in deference to Brandon's preferences. Left to her own devices, she preferred more herbal scents for her skin and hair. That was a nice time, and ended up being a lot more interesting than the first bath they'd ever shared. It took two towels to soak up all the water on the floor afterward.

Before she knew it, it was time to go to the clinic for Brandon's first treatment in New Orleans.

"You ready?" Teva asked as Brandon checked his bag for probably the eleventh time. It was totally a stall tactic, they both knew. All he had to bring was a change of clothes for when they released him, nothing that required so much paranoia on whether he'd forgotten anything or not. Still, he checked one more time just to be safe before sucking it up and giving her the nod that he was ready.

Doing the whole tough guy thing, he chose to walk down to the car and into the clinic where he looked very sure about the upcoming procedure as he shook Dr. Bob's hand. Brandon even laughed smoothly at the old man's wisecracks despite the fact that internally he was nearing complete meltdown. The only reason he didn't bolt was because Teva was right there beside him the whole time, slipping her hand around his arm in a comforting manner when she recognized the act for what it was. The staff of people that would be tending to him during his injection helped ease his worries somewhat as well, all of them introducing themselves individually and making certain that Brandon felt secure in their desire to get him through this as quickly, easily, and painlessly (figuratively speaking, of course) as possible.

Brandon was just starting to relax a little when they brought him into the treatment room, and Dr. Bob asked him to lay down on the table.

"...Are you going to raise it up some?" Brandon asked hesitantly.

Bob smiled at him and shook his head. "We prefer to do this with the patient lying flat. There's a little less strain on the body than being at the angle I understand Dr. Peters preferred." At Brandon's skeptical look, Bob patted his shoulder, also using his hand to guide his patient further into the room. "I've been doing this a long time, son. Trust me."

"Don't call me son," Brandon mumbled, but handed his crutches off to one of the assistants so he could get up onto the cushioned table. Once he settled himself on it, he had to admit that it was easier to let his muscles relax when he was completely horizontal than when he had to worry about possibly sliding off the thing. That also meant the straps weren't cinched so tightly because their only purpose was to help hold him steady instead of to hold his weight in place. All in all, so far it seemed like the process might actually go better than when Peters had done it.

Teva was allowed to take up her position at the head of the bed thing, but with his face pressed into the doughnut at this flat angle she wouldn't be able to see him. He wasn't sure why that mattered to him so much; it wasn't like he was ever able to see _her_ during treatments. The hole in the padded pillow thing wasn't designed to accommodate his glasses, so he was always forced to get through it blind. Still, something about the fact that _she_ couldn't see _him_ made him uneasy, like she wouldn't be able to read his subconscious cues for when he needed her the most.

"B, you okay?" she whispered close to his ear. The fact that she even had to ask proved just what he had been thinking about. Without being able to see his face all she had to go by were his verbal assurances and how hard he squeezed her hand.

"Yeah, let's just get this over with," he answered quietly, gripping hold of the padded shelf with one hand and finding her fingers with the other.

The staff made the typical familiar sounds of getting the equipment ready, and Bob set aside his joking manner so he could gently warn Brandon that the injection was coming. There was a steady, soothing countdown, then the tiny little prick, followed quickly by that lightening hot pain that Brandon was becoming disgustingly accustomed to.

Except this time there was something new. It felt like there was a tearing, cold burn that was riding the lightning, and _god_, it hurt, so much so that Brandon lost his usual tight control over his mouth. A loud, choking cry escaped him, and he felt his hand let go of Teva's to instead claw at the cushion, his fingers clenching and unclenching, scratching at the fabric as if he could rip open a door into Wonderland or something where he could escape.

"Stop, _stop!_" he begged, his voice coming about garbled and broken as tears, saliva, and pain muddled up his words.

He couldn't quite make out the doctor's answer amidst his own pleas, Teva's angry and frightened voice joining in, and the chorus of shouts coming from the "kind and caring" medical staff. The fact that there were strange hands all over him hardly even registered; he was too lost in the agony that kept fluctuating between searing heat and biting cold that felt like it was pulling apart the back of his head.

"Stop, please, stop," he repeated over and over again in a crying whisper, not realizing that the chaos around him had died down. Awareness only came back to him when he felt Teva's hands on his cheeks. She must've been kneeling on the floor. What was she doing down there? And where was everybody else?

"It's done, it's over," she kept saying, sounding almost desperate. "Brandon, can you hear me? It's done. We're going to get you out of here, okay? Brandon? Please, answer me!"

She shook him a little bit, and it was only then that he realized that he wasn't even on his stomach anymore. Somehow he'd wound up on his side with his head resting on the edge of the doughnut, and Teva wasn't kneeling below him, she was standing over him. Tentatively bringing a shaky hand to the back of his head, he tried to confirm that there wasn't a gaping hole back there, but Teva caught up his hand before he could touch.

"No, I need to check," he murmured, his words coming out in a slurred whine.

"It's fine," Teva assured him. "You're okay; you're going to be okay. We're just going to get you up and take you somewhere else. You liked Dr. Jillian, right? If you get up for me I'll take you over there."

Why did she sound so scared? She wasn't the one with that got zapped with a lightning/freeze ray...prod...drill thing. Maybe if he sat up she'd feel better.

Brandon pushed himself up on shaking arms, and wavered in place for a minute, again confused by how quiet it was in the room. "Where'd everybody go?" he asked.

"I kicked them out as soon as that assclown pulled that fucking needle out of your head," Teva explained, getting her arms around his ribcage so she could help transfer him into his chair. "Fuck, you were out of it for like ten whole minutes. I thought he gave you brain damage." She stopped her rant and gently gripped his chin, tilting his face back up. He hadn't realized that his head had been slowly dipping down against his chest. "He didn't, right? Brandon?"

"No," he answered firmly, and shoved her hand away. He didn't think so anyway. It _seemed_ like his thought processes were all kicking back into gear. "I'm just...really tired. Did he finish it, at least? The treatment?"

She seemed content with his response, and moved around to the back of the chair. "Yes. He said he had to. I guess getting a partial treatment _can_ cause problems or something."

Brandon slowly and forcefully blinked his eyes, still feeling kind of disoriented. "Did he say what the fuck happened?" he finally asked.

A bitter laugh shot out of her throat. "He said he'd like to run some tests to find out why it hurt so bad, but that you should be fine. I told him to fuck off. 'Fine' is not begging invisible people to stop hurting you for ten minutes after they've left the room. Fucker."

"So we're going to Jillian's?" Brandon confirmed, still somewhat confused. "What if she's not any better?"

Teva was quiet for a long moment before she answered. "I'll probably break her face, then fly back to L.A. just to shove Peters' list so far up his ass that his own surgeons won't be able to get it out."

"In fairness to Peters, what happened in there probably wasn't normal," Brandon argued tiredly, closing his eyes again and not caring that his head was beginning to slide down against his shoulder.

Teva said something back that he didn't quite catch, made him wake up just enough to get him into the car, then didn't bother him again until they were at the other clinic. Jill pushed aside whatever she could to get Brandon in as soon as possible, then listened to Teva's explanation of what had happened, made Brandon describe what he was feeling, and proceeded to give her own theory on what had probably gone wrong. From what Brandon picked up on in his half-awake state, it was unusual for Dr. Bob's patients to complain about being mistreated.

"Told you so," Brandon jabbed at Teva with a broad smile. She probably glared at him, but as his glasses were still tucked away in his bag, he didn't see it if she did.

"But it's also unusual for someone in your condition to change medical care providers in the middle of your treatment schedule," Jill continued. "Without running any tests, my best guess would be that Dr. Bobrik failed to take in the growth of scar tissue and new cell development that's been massing around your normal injection site. By inserting the needle at a different angle than what your body is accustomed to, he most likely tore some of that scar tissue, as well as injecting the treatment against different nerve bundles that haven't had a chance to adjust to the sudden pressure the newly added fluid creates."

For some reason, Brandon was having a really hard time processing whatever the doc had just said. "I don't know what any of that means," he admitted, thinking there might still be a little bit of a slur in his voice. Odd. He knew damn well he hadn't been drinking.

Teva jumped in with worried voice again. "He's not...Bran's usually smarter than this..."

"He should be fine in a little bit," Jill said. It sounded like she was smiling. Brandon pictured her smiling anyway. It wasn't good when a doctor didn't smile at their patients. "Once the fluid has a chance to spread out over the areas it's targeting for the regrowth, I'd bet all our funds that he'll be back to normal. To be perfectly honest, if you were to stick with Dr. Bobrik then it would only take a few more times before his body would adjust to the new angle of the needle, and everything would proceed as per your normal routine."

"No," both Brandon and Teva answered at once. He wasn't _that_ out of it. There was no way he was going through that pain again.

"Alright, then," Jill continued. "I'll get you guys set up in a room for the oncoming seizures, and I'll be sure to go over with Dr. Peters what his exact procedures were before you return next month. If you aren't comfortable, then we're not comfortable, and that goes for both of you. If you're uneasy with something that we're doing here, just let me know and I'll see what I can do to rectify that."

Teva and Brandon thanked the woman, and he remembered watching her get up to leave the room. After that, he seemed to somehow lose a chunk of time as he suddenly found himself all set up and ready to go in a bed. It was as if he had blinked and just magically teleported from the sitting room to the ICU, hooked up to the machines and everything.

"There you are," Teva's voice carried over to him softly. "Welcome back."

"Did I pass out?" he asked.

"Sort of. You kind of zoned out for a little while, _then_ passed out. It was kind of creepy actually, so I'm going to ask you not to do that again."

"Okay." He let out a long sigh, then turned back in her direction. "Any chance I stayed passed out all the way through Seizure Day?"

That brought out a little laugh, sounding like a tension-relief thing. Good. That's what he'd been going for.

Her hand rubbed up and down his arm in that soothing way of hers that seemed to be for her as much as it was for him, and answered with a solemn, "Sorry, no such luck."

"Yeah, didn't think so." Brandon paused, then shot a little grin at her. "You think they have flavored mouth guards here?"

"I will see what I can do about that," she promised, but made no move to get up. He didn't really want her to anyway. He hadn't even gone through the seizures yet and already felt like he'd been through the ringer. Seemed like all his panic over his first treatment day at a new clinic had been justified, after all.

Inexplicably, she felt like she'd failed Brandon. He had trusted her to help him through this, and instead she had been helpless as he writhed in pain. She fought the urge to sigh.

Dr. Jillian returned to the room with a few papers on a clipboard. "Your admission forms and information release, granting familial rights to..." She glanced at Teva questioningly.

"Sarah Jones," Teva supplied her alias in lieu of her given name, seeing how she didn't actually have a SIN that said her name was Teva. Someday she'd drop the cash to get somebody to make one. Someday, maybe if Sarah Jones ever became compromised.

Dr. Jillian made a quick notation on the sheets of paper, then handed them over to Brandon. Quickly, she pointed the pen where he needed to sign, and he took it from her, scribbling a little above the actual sign. They went through the rest of the pages like that, and Teva took the opportunity to ask, "Do you guys have flavored mouth guards here?"

"Cherry," Dr. Jillian replied. "I'll have your aide bring them in for you, okay?"

"Thanks," Brandon agreed, smiling politely at her.

They were left alone then, at least for the time being, and it was spent quietly for the most part. Bran was still tired, and she was still worried, preoccupied with her thoughts.

Finally, Brandon squeezed her hand, and said, "It's not your fault, so stop blaming yourself."

"You can tell?" she asked in surprise.

"I'd be a pretty crappy boyfriend if I couldn't," he laughed weakly.

All things considered, Brandon went through the rest of his hated twenty-four hours in pretty much the same way he always had. The seizures were just as bad as usual, but at least they weren't any _worse_ given how painful the treatment had been. Strangely enough, that had been a bit of a relief to Brandon; he'd been concerned about what the misaligned angle might have done to affect the already severe side effect. Trying to find an even brighter side to things, the cherry flavor in his mouth was a welcome perk to wake up to between his attacks as opposed to the lingering plastic taste he'd had back at the old clinic. Plus, the staff made sure he didn't damage himself and were able to keep him as comfortable as expected given the circumstances. Overall, the normalcy of his day put him at ease more in regards to returning to Dr. Jillian's care in the future.

"Okay, Brandon," Jill said as she came in when it was time for his release. "Oh, wow, you look wiped. Did you sleep okay last night? Maybe I should talk to Sarah."

"Oh, you _do_ have a sense of humor," Brandon chuckled softly, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"Let's keep that a secret between us," Jill whispered before she continued. "Peters informed me that your follow-up tests are usually a week after your treatment, but as you've now moved into monthly treatments instead of bi-weekly, we're both in agreement that perhaps we should schedule the testing for two weeks out. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Brandon lost the battle to keep his eyes open and shook his head in a sort of "_I don't want to do this now_" way. "Yeah, that's fine, whatever," he muttered.

Dr. Jillian seemed undaunted by his utter lack of caring. "Very well, I will schedule you for two weeks from today. If you change your mind when you're a little livelier, feel free to give my office a call. We'll get you squared away. Sarah, I also spoke with a very charming troll who assures me that you have Brandon's post-release care well under control?"

"We've been doing this for a while, yeah," Teva answered. Brandon smiled at that. Falling asleep to Teva's gentle, magic touch was the only real good thing about his treatments. Well, that and the fact that his eyesight did seem to be gradually improving. That was a definite good thing.

There was the sound of someone getting up from their chair...actually, it seemed like both ladies stood up. They were probably doing that whole goodbye handshake thing.

"Well then, it was good to get to know you both a little better. Brandon, Wade should be in to get you all unhooked in just a moment, then you are a free man. I look forward to seeing you in two weeks, preferably a little more lively than you do right now, because _eesh_, I would be very worried for your girlfriend's taste in men if this is how you look on a good day."

"Ouch, doc, that hurts," Brandon said with fake wounded pride. He quickly altered his perception of the young doctor. All professional up front, a sly sense of humor underneath. He'd be fine with her.

She said a final goodbye, and a minute later the promised orderly came in to un-cyborg Brandon. Wade was...eager, to put it nicely. He seemed like another of those fresh recruit types, untainted by the stress and sorrow that often came with more experience in the medical field. He talked the entire time he was freeing up Brandon, mostly about the type of shit that normal people didn't really care about, like how great the new Speed Dragon game was, and how awesome it was going to be that Neil Marx was going to be playing Moonstone. Actually, it was all shit that Switch would have a heyday with had he been around, but Brandon was too tired to even try to keep up with the latest geek gossip. As soon as he felt the catheter come out, he thanked the kid as a polite way to essentially tell him to get lost, and had Teva help him get dressed in his simple clothes so they could get the fuck out of there.

Brandon was so ready to just pass out in the bed as soon as they got home, but they came across another obstacle as they got off the elevator.

"Oh, good, you're here," Red's voice greeted them. "I was just about to..."

And there it was, that moment where people tended to stall out once they caught sight of Brandon looking like death warmed over. It was like they weren't sure whether asking him if he was okay would be insulting or not, much like how people internally debated whether it'd be too rude to ask him why he didn't just get cybereyes to cure his blindness or bioware to help him walk again. Brandon much preferred that they _didn't_ ask.

"Red, now's not a really good time," Teva prompted.

"Right, of course. I wasn't planning on staying long anyway." There was the sound of paper sliding across fabric, most likely something coming out of Red's pocket. He gave his reason for being there as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, which Brandon was grateful for. "There's a Turkish art exhibit coming to town this weekend. A contact of mine gifted me with tickets, but I have prior engagements. I hate to see the tickets go to waste, so I thought perhaps the two of you might like to go? Aside from the sculptures, the paintings tend to be textured with metal leafing and mosaic tiles, so Ghost should be able to enjoy those as well."

Brandon did his best to put on a smile that didn't appear forced. He appreciated the offer, truly he did, but he hurt all over and sleep was first and foremost on his mind right now. "Thank you, Red," he managed to get out.

Teva repeated the sentiment, took the tickets by the sound of it, and told Red she'd talk to him later. The elf took his cue to leave, finally allowing Brandon to just let himself relax. He felt terrible, knew he looked terrible, and was ready for Teva to just make it all go away.

* * *

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 4

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

Two weeks later, time for Brandon's light test, Teva was finally taking a look at their finances, or rather her finances, since she'd told Brandon that he didn't have to pay anything for three months, and cringing at her math.

Usually Teva was good to live off of her stockpile of cash between 'runs for a little while, but waiting all those months had definitely taken its toll on both her personal finances, which had been drained, and her retirement account. While there was still money left, she didn't particularly want to use it. However, by her calculations, she'd have spent nearly a third of her savings by the time Brandon started bringing in some money.

Not that she could tell Bran that. His guilt would probably spiral out of control.

There was nothing really to be done for it, but to get back in the game.

She'd be lying if she said the thought didn't excite her. This domestic thing that Teva had been doing for so long wasn't really her forte. While she did it, it was done with an air of uncertainty, and a secret, underlying impatience, a hope for some mystical day in the future when she wouldn't have to 'take care' of Brandon anymore. While being a protector came naturally to her, being kind and supportive and understanding didn't. She had to work at it, and it was slowly scraping away at her nerves.

The 'runner wanted out. The killer craved an outlet.

Teva heard creaking noises coming from the bedroom. Quickly, she dumped the scrap paper she'd been doing her math on in the garbage can. Then, of course, she realized the silliness of that. Brandon couldn't read it. His glasses couldn't distinguish the difference between the paper and the ink. However, he could take it, scan it into his tablet, and have the tablet read it to him.

Better to be safe than sorry, she thought, as the bedroom door opened, and Brandon came out using his arm crutches.

"Morning," Teva chirped. "I made soycaf."

Grinning, Brandon said, "Well, this is unusual, you being awake first."

Worry had kept her from a sound sleep. Lifting her coffee mug to her lips, Teva shrugged nonchalantly and drank deeply from it.

"Ready for your light test?" she asked instead, watching as Bran made his way into the kitchen, and poured himself a cup of soycaf, then added his flavored creamer where it always sat inside the fridge door.

"Yep," he agreed, pushing his coffee cup onto the breakfast counter, across the surface closer to the empty stool. Still waking up, Brandon walked carefully around the edge, then settled into the open chair. "Well," he amended, "maybe after breakfast and a shower."

Leaning over, he kissed her good morning, then picked up his coffee cup. "So what are you up to?" Brandon wondered, looking pointedly at the journal he'd given her all those months ago, where she'd torn her scrap paper from.

"Oh, uh, nothing," she thought quickly, "Just thinking on paper."

Shrugging, her boyfriend accepted that answer at face value. It probably didn't seem odd to him because he knew that his chosen outlet for recording his thoughts was to write, or at least it was his favored one.

Never mind the fact that Teva hadn't written a word in her journal for months. She just wasn't a writer, not really. In the beginning of their relationship, it had served as a good tool for getting to know Brandon, and letting Brandon get to know her. On her own, she didn't see much purpose to it. Why record her thoughts? She was already thinking them; clearly, she knew what they were.

"I'll make breakfast," Teva decided abruptly, and shoved her journal and pen off to one side of the counter, and hopped back off the stool. As she cooked, nothing fancy, just oatmeal topped with raisins, dates, and pecans, and sprinkled with brown sugar, and a few sausage-esque patties, Teva tried to carve out some time to make a few calls, one starting with Red to see if he had any 'runs he wanted her on, or possibly some other ones from his fixer. If not, she'd check out her inbox on the 'runner database. There were usually a few untapped offers floating out there in the nets.

Maybe if the doctor didn't need her for the light tests, she could go sneak outside for a few minutes. If not, she'd need to come up with some reason to escape the apartment sans accompaniment.

It sounded a lot more devious than it really was. Teva just didn't want to make Brandon feel badly. It was one thing if she came to him and told him that someone had offered her a job, and another to say that she was actively beginning to search for them. That was indicative of financial concerns, and would defeat the purpose of the whole 'keep Brandon from feeling guilty that he wasn't working' plan.

Breakfast was a quick affair, and after he'd gotten up to take a shower, Brandon asked playfully, "Would you like to conserve water?"

"Mm..." Teva hesitated, then gave Brandon a bright grin, "Actually, I think I'll pass today. I'm gonna go have a quick run, then I'll hop in after you. We'll be quicker then." Opportunity was knocking, after all.

Shrugging, he teased, "Suit yourself."

"I usually do," she replied in a sing-song tone, and scraped her spoon around her bowl one last time to scoop up any remaining oatmeal.

After Brandon disappeared behind the bathroom door, Teva stuffed her feet into her running shoes, and grabbed her comm, heading for the door. She wasn't even down to the street level before she made the call to Red.

Luckily, he answered with a bored sounding, "Yes? It's rather early for you, isn't it?"

"Oh, shut up," she growled and bounced down the last few stairs to the front door. "You got any jobs on the hook?" Teva started walking down the block, wanting to focus on the conversation.

"For you?" Red wanted to know.

"Duh," Teva snapped.

"I'll check," he said slowly. "Why? Bored with domestic life already?"

"Yes," she agreed, simply because it was easier than trying to explain the pain she felt at watching her savings dwindle. There went the beach house and the private dock. Red was born with that kind of laconic life, so for him, he probably wouldn't be able to understand the dreamy unreality of having it as a goal. "By the way," Teva got out quickly just before Red was going to hang up, "Thanks for the art show tickets. Bran enjoyed it."

"Did you?" he asked.

Shrugging, Teva responded casually, "Yeah, sure. I mean, it was pretty, but I think Bran appreciated it a little more than I did." Understatement, that. She wasn't particularly interested in the appearance of art so much as she was the processes that created it. Once, a long time ago, she'd lived with an old artist who specialized in elaborate three dimensional art as a caregiver. His specialties were metal and wood, and she used to love watching him work.

The tattoo on her leg was actually inspired by one of his pieces, an amazing vertical sculpture nearly five feet high, the base of which was a carved wooden lotus, and the three dimensional paisley-designed vines crawling up to the heavens. Oslo had made it for his deceased wife. Two years later, long after they had parted ways, Teva had seen it in a gallery window with a little plaque about the deceased artist. Unable to purchase it, she had done the next best thing, and crafted a living homage to that much-loved work of art.

"Oh?" Red eventually replied. "My apologies, I thought you would both enjoy it."

"No, no, I did," she hurried to reassure him, "Just not as completely, I guess. I need some kind of emotional connection to art to really love it, I think. Otherwise it's just pretty patterns to me."

"I'll keep that in mind," her friend mused quietly. Then he told her, "Well, I'll look to see if there are any 'runs in my inbox or with my fixer that would suit you, and give you a call as soon as I have the answer to your question."

"Thanks," Feral told him, then ended the call abruptly. She had a few minutes to get sweaty and gross, then she needed to be back at the apartment.

* * *

"It stopped working, didn't it?" Brandon asked solemnly. He was so sure that he'd be able to know for certain that there was an improvement in his vision; it'd been so long since his last test. Instead, there didn't seem to be any difference at all between the last time and this one, and Jill wasn't Peters. She had no reason to give him false hope.

Jill spoke as she handed Brandon back his ultrasonics so he could look at her. "On the contrary, according to your brain activity scans, things appear to firing up at a reasonably positive pace in the areas of new cell growth. On top of that, it appears your body may be making an attempt to reboot your old system too. These are all good signs, Brandon, it'll just take time."

"So why can't I tell the difference?" he asked, his tone more curious and less lost. It was hard to allow himself to think the worst when a doctor that felt no obligation to talk around the truth was giving him scientific data to back her claims. She was keeping that lighthouse turned on for him simply because it was a factual truth, something that he desperately needed.

"My best guess? I'd say it's probably these." She tapped a finger on the frame of his glasses. "No, I take that back. It's not a guess. I can say that with absolute certainty. You've kept up with exercising your body, I can tell _that_ much since the last time I saw you, but-"

"Last time you saw me I was suffering from partial mental impairment, and that was _before_ the full day of seizing," Brandon pointed out.

Jill smirked at him. "Yes, and I'm very glad on behalf of your girlfriend that on your good days you're much easier on the eyes than I was afraid of, given our last encounter."

Teva stifled a laugh, but not in time to prevent Brandon from swatting her on the leg. The doc had been right though, he _had _been very diligent in keeping up with his at-home PT. Between his scheduled exercises, the fact that he made himself use his crutches as often as he could, and all the extracurricular activities involving the participation of his female partner, his strength was increasing on a weekly basis. It probably wouldn't be too much longer before he could get by on one crutch, or better yet, a cane. Canes were kind of cool and sophisticated, less '_look at me, I'm crippled!_'

"But as I was saying," Jill continued, "while you've done well with your physical exercises, I'd wager you haven't done much to exercise your brain."

Brandon furled his brows at that. "...I don't know whether I should be insulted by that or not."

"She means your glasses," Teva clarified, sounding amused and a little like she did when she got to rub in the fact that she was right about something, only this time he had no idea what she was trying to rub in. "You use them all the time now."

"Well, duh, I can't see without them," Brandon justified. Did they _want_ him to walk around running into things?

Jill snapped her fingers, bringing his attention back over to her. "You know that whole 'too much of a good thing' phrase? That's what's going on right here. Seeing is good, therefore glasses are good, prompting you to wear them probably every waking moment that you can get away with. Your echo sight is acting as a pleasurable stimulant, which is shadowing the need to address the true, underlying issue."

"Like pain medication," Brandon groaned, rubbing at his forehead. "I let myself get addicted to the glasses, didn't I?" _Damn _his addictive personality. Now he understood where this was going.

"Exactly," Jill verified, but there was a '_but_' in her tone, Brandon could hear it. "But much like pain medication, it also serves a very valuable purpose. You should still be able to wear them for a good portion of your day, just make sure you carve some time out to give your real eyes some practice. Unless, of course, you don't _want_ your real sight back. If that's the case, by all means use your glasses as much as you want."

Brandon was very quick to shoot that down, fully getting the point. He liked his glasses, but no, he'd much prefer to be able to see in color again, and grasp the difference between light and shadow, and mostly to see those little things like a word written on a page or the actual expression hidden in someone's eyes. He made a mental note to go blind for a little while in the mornings, shed his glasses earlier in the evenings, and also to run himself through some sight drills at the end of his normal PT. Not a problem.

Except in reality it kind of was a little bit of a problem. He'd been used to not being able to see back at the safe house, what with how long he'd initially gone without the glasses. There had been tricks to getting himself around, counts to how many wheel rotations he could manage or how many steps in his walker he needed to take before he had to make a turn. With Teva's apartment he had to start all over again, especially since he'd just barely gotten himself fully capable of navigating everything in the place _with_ his sight. To say that the next several days were frustrating was an understatement, and with that frustration came the itching need to just put his glasses back on his face. They _had_ become an addiction, and him having to fight putting them on every time he ran into the kitchen counter or snagged his crutches on a chair leg made him grumpy, just like dealing with any withdrawal. Actually, it may have been worse because he was forced to voluntarily remind himself of how incapable he was of basic function without his sight.

"God _damn_ it!" He shouted after a bad spill as he was crossing from the living room into the kitchen, landing partially on the linoleum where he split his elbow coming down on his crutch. He heard Teva coming in, and in his anger he wound up taking it out on her. "Push the fucking stool back in when you're done with it! This is hard enough without you turning this goddamn place into a fucking obstacle course!"

He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth, especially when he heard Teva stop right in her tracks. He didn't even have the chance to get out an apology before he heard something getting slammed onto the counter-probably the first aid box-followed by her storming out the front door.

"Shit," he hissed, sliding himself back so he was sitting against the end of the counter, cradling his bleeding elbow. With the last of his dwindling anger (this time at himself) he fumbled for one of his dropped crutches and half threw, half slid it across the kitchen floor until it hit the wall on the other side of the room. _That_ was another bright idea, tossing away one of the tools he needed to help get him back to his feet. Oh yeah, he was doing fantastic for himself today.

* * *

"I am going to stab him in the junk," Teva muttered to herself as she flew out of the apartment, hiding the confused hurt she felt underneath a wave of hot anger. "'Push the fucking stool in'," she mimicked bitingly as she took the elevator down to the parking garage. "Excuse me? Why don't you fucking use your crutches to figure out where shit is like a real blind person?"

The elevator stopped on three, the doors sliding open to reveal a little old lady just as Teva was growling, "Fucking bastard, who does he think he is? Like he's the only one fucking busting his ass here? Like I'm not sick of being Little Miss Nice Girl all the time?" Finally, she looked up and noticed the white haired woman staring at her incredulously. Teva blinked and snapped, "And how the fuck did that get started anyway? I am not nice. I fucking warned him, so that goddamn 'gina-whiner better put on his big girl panties and deal with it!"

The elderly woman blinked and said in a shaky voice, "I'll get the next elevator."

"Tch," Teva sneered, and snapped out with her leg, punching the door close button with her foot. Her arms were a little preoccupied being crossed forbiddingly across her chest. Back down they went until the doors opened up into the cool, damp interior of the underground garage, lit lowly with energy-efficient bulbs overhead. She stalked to her car, and got in it, deciding that she was going to take it for a spin outside of the city. She needed high speeds and open road to blow off some of this anger, this writhing urge to fight back.

About twenty miles past the city border, she opened up a comm call to Red. He hadn't even said hello before she started speaking. "Please tell me you fucking found something," she pleaded, "I need a vacation from my relationship."

"Uh oh, trouble in paradise?" he asked mildly.

"It's Hurricane I'ma Fuckin' Break Your Skinny Neck," Teva growled. It must have held a hint of her desperation, because it made Red chuckle.

"There is something, but it's not being run by me."

"Then who?"

"A 'runner named Killswitch. It's for a Cleaning job on an illegally operated chemical manufacturer," Red answered.

"You mean a drug operation," Teva clarified.

"Indeed. I'm not certain of the particulars, of course, but I do know that Killswitch is one of Izzy's regulars as well, though this job is for a Johnson. He just reached out to her to ask if she could recommend anyone who was a particularly efficient fighter who wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. It's a lethal assignment. Everyone associated with the operation must go," Red said slowly. "But I hesitated to call you because normally you prefer no-kill 'runs."

"What's the pay?" she asked instead of responding to that.

He named an impressive figure.

Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, Feral replied, "Okay, I'm in. Where do I sign up?"

"Hold on," Red commanded, and then a second later he patched her through to Izzy. Once the fixer picked up, he made introductions and dropped out of the conference, leaving only Feral and Izzy on the line. After a brief interview, so to speak, she was cleared.

The fixer seemed to be smiling if her tone was any indication as she said, "Alright, I'll contact Killswitch for you, let him know I've got the perfect 'runner for him, then I'll give him your comm number. If he calls, he calls. If he doesn't, not my problem. I won't even charge you my usual fee since you're a friend of Red's."

"I appreciate that," Feral drawled, and kicked up her speed another notch down a long stretch of empty road. They rang off then, but it took another forty-five minutes before she got a call from a deep voice speaking cityspeak.

"Yo, Feral? Killswitch. Holla at'cha boy," he demanded when she opened up the comm call without speaking. Always best just to make sure it was a friendly on the phone.

"Sup?" she shot back. "Heard you're lookin' for a gun."

"Shit, I might be," he said slowly, hedging his words. "Gotta say, I checked out your 'runner score. You got some good marks, but there's a few comments that say you're a pain in the ass to work with. I ain't lookin' for no trouble-makin' hoes, you got me?"

"We're copacetic so long as you don't piss me the fuck off," she snapped, her temper still close to the surface from the should've-been-a-fight with Bran.

"And just what pisses you off, girlie?" Killswitch replied, but he sounded like he might be laughing about it.

"Motherfuckers who call me 'girlie' piss me off, for starters," Feral drawled with an edge to her words. "Following that, shitty team leaders who don't listen to their teammates and trust 'em to do their job, and douchebags who step outside the parameters of the 'run just for kicks and giggles. I wanna make some money, not fuckin' worry that I'm gonna get fucked over 'cause the job wasn't done right. Word?"

Killswitch was quiet for a moment, then he answered back in a friendlier tone, "Word. I hear that. Aight, Feral, if you're as good as your 'runner score says-"

"Better," she interrupted, bravado boosting her voice over his.

"-then I think we can make a deal. Pack your bags. I'll send you the travel deets in a sec. You're goin' to Aztlan."

"Looking forward to it," she purred, and ended the comm call.

By the time Teva returned to the apartment, she was feeling a lot better. She was going to make some money, and take a little vacay, and by the time she got back Brandon would hopefully have adjusted his attitude. She didn't speak to him beyond a simple hello when she walked in the door, and went straight to their bedroom to start packing, relief making her hum as she did so.

Brandon blinked in confusion as Teva came back in, sounding oddly chipper considering how angry she was when she'd left. He pushed himself up off the couch carefully using only the one crutch, his other one still somewhere on the kitchen floor wherever he'd tossed it. He didn't particularly want to use it anyway, not with his elbow swelling up a little around the bruising gash he'd managed to tape up on his own right where he'd been sitting on the floor. The mess he left from that was something else he still needed to pick up, but getting up on just the one crutch, bagging some ice for his arm, and making it to the couch was about all he could manage under the circumstances.

Wincing a little at the movement, Brandon used his sore arm to guide himself down the hall until he felt the opening that went to their room, and carefully leaned into the doorframe. "Hey, I'm really sorry about-" He paused, listening for a second. "Are you packing?"

"Mm-hmm," Teva responded as if there was nothing wrong with that.

"What? Why?" Panic was beginning to set in a little as he took a few more shaky steps into the room. "I didn't mean to yell at you, okay? I'm _sorry_. It hurt and I lost my temper, and I know that's no excuse for getting mad at you. It was my fault for not being more careful. I know that, okay? You don't have to go anywhere. I'll-" He cut himself off there. Saying "_I'll behave_" like a scared little kid grabbing at his mother's pant leg would've been too much. Inside though, he was ashamed to admit that he kind of felt like doing exactly that.

"Relax, B, I'm packing because I got a job," Teva informed him.

That was surprising too. She'd gotten a call for a 'run while she was out, and said _yes? Now?_ While he was still adjusting? The news had him making it the rest of the way to the bed where he sank down on the end of it, mindful not to sit on anything Teva had possibly laid out.

"What..." God, this was going to sound so selfish, but he couldn't help but ask the question. "What about me?"

Teva was quiet for a few seconds, and if he had hated not having his glasses on when he had fallen, he really hated it now. He didn't know if she was giving him a casual shrug, a soft look of understanding, or glaring daggers at him. Whatever her expression was, she had stopped packing for the moment so he knew she was directing it at him.

_What about him?_

The question brought a little of her previous anger back to the surface, and Teva knew with even greater certainty that she was making the right decision. If she didn't get some distance between them for a little bit, she was going to end up snapping on him, and most likely doing something she'd regret.

She stared at him, her expression blank, or as blank as it could get, and the sad, bewildered look on his face scraped against her nerves. It was definitely the right decision.

"Look," she drawled, "I think somewhere along the way things got pretty twisted, and you're somehow under the impression that I'm some patient _angel_." The last word was said with venom leaking into an otherwise-casual statement. There was more than one reason she'd hated Brandon's favored moniker for her, and this was just one more example. "These are extenuating circumstances." Despite the fact that Bran didn't have his glasses on, she waved a hand in the air, taking in his form from head to feet. "And I think I've been a motherfucking saint. I quit working for months to try and support you while you were healing, but now it's time to get real."

"What-" Brandon began to ask, but she cut him off with a hiss.

"I'm not done," she bit out, her voice low and dangerous. "You're at a point in your recovery where you can function all by yourself. I can leave for a few days and go make a fat pile of money without worrying that you're going to fall into a pit of despair and slit your wrists, and frankly, I think we could both do with a healthy dose of normalcy right about now. My sole purpose in life is not to sit around and hold your hand, and it is certainly not to be your verbal punching bag when you get fed up with life."

Turning around, Teva started going through the closet again, selecting clothes that would be both sturdy and yet allowing for free movement on the 'run. This was a demo job. There was sure to be a lot of fighting involved. Truthfully, she was glad of it. Too much idle time was clearly taking its toll on her as well.

"I'm not going to up and change who I am just because your circumstances have altered," Teva stated in what she hoped wasn't an unreasonable tone. "I am still an adrenalin junkie, and this-" she waved an impatient hand in the air, "-is grating on my fucking nerves. My ability to stay still has been stretched to its limit. Now I need to go do what it is that I truly excel at. Nobody expects me to be nice all the time there. In fact, they don't expect me to be nice at all. It'll be a nice vacation, and when I get back, maybe we'll both be in a better mood."

Ripping two shirts, two different armored jackets, and a hat that might have been hers or it might have been Bran's out of the closet, she spun around to toss them all in the same bag. Frankly, sometimes it was a little confusing. Teva thought she was going to have to start marking some of her things with her initials on the tag because for all the differences they seemed to have in styles of dress, a lot of their basic wardrobe items, for instance, her favorite plain white or black t-shirts, and some of their hats, were very similar. It didn't help that Teva occasionally bought her t-shirts a little large, and Bran was kind of on the slender side for a man, so their t-shirts were the same size.

It was as she was putting those items away that she caught sight of Brandon's face, the stubborn, mulish cast mixing with hurt-always hurt; his feelings were too close to the surface, and Teva had an innate talent for knowing just where a person's weaknesses were and what would bring them to the fore-and knew before he even opened his mouth that this was about to turn into an argument.

"I don't _always_ expect you to be nice," Brandon said.

Scoffing incredulously, she replied, "Oh? Exhibit A, the look on your face right now. If I say the wrong thing, you get your 'wah, I'm the victim here' expression on, and guilt trip me until I can barely stand to speak at all anymore."

With a mean little twist to his lips, Bran snapped back, "Well, you know what? You're my girlfriend; you should be nice to me."

"That is such bullshit," Teva hissed before she could over think it. "I let you get away with things I would never tolerate from other people, like biting my head off for something that wasn't even my fucking fault."

"It wouldn't have even happened if you'd pushed in the stool!" Brandon shouted, slamming his hand down on the mattress. "You're a slob! You can't organize for shit, and-"

"I swear to god," she yelled over him, "You better fucking watch what comes out of your mouth next, because you aren't gonna like my response!"

"-maybe if you cleaned up after yourself, I wouldn't be fucking harping on you like somebody's mom!"

"I do clean up after myself! _And you!_ Who's the one doing laundry three times a week? It's certainly not you!"

"I can't carry the clothes down by myself!"

"Put the basket in your chair, genius!" Teva shrieked back at him, "It's not that you can't do it, it's that there's no fucking reason for you to worry your pretty little head about it as long as I'm around to schlep your shit all over the place! So I didn't push the stool all the way in one fucking time. _Get over it!_"

"Oh, fuck you," Brandon yelled, and got to his feet as quickly as he could with only one crutch available, "You are such a fucking martyr, aren't you, Teva? Always sacrificing for others! Give, give, give; that's you. Why, you are right, you _are_ a saint! They should be praying to you: Teva, patron saint of lost causes."

"There's already a patron saint of lost causes, you dickhead!" she screamed as Brandon made his way out of the bedroom with as much haste as a blind man could, "Read a fucking book!"

"I can't," Brandon shouted back nastily, "I'm a little busy contemplating all the ways I could commit suicide!"

"Shut the fuck up, you melodramatic headcase!" Teva screeched, angrily zipping her bag up with so much force that she almost wrenched the tab off. "You are such a fucking asshole! This is why I'm going; so I can go take months of pent-up frustration out on other people; so I can be as big of a destructive force as possible, because otherwise I am gonna rip you apart. I'm gonna shove one arm up your ass, and the other down your throat until the two bloody stumps meet in the middle in a way that should be anatomically impossible, but I will fucking make it happen! I am fed up with that kind of shit right there! All this 'woe is me' bullshit. Done! Do you hear me? I am fucking done!"

"I think everybody can hear you!" Brandon shouted from the living room.

"God, I can't wait to get out of here," Teva sighed to the empty room, raising her eyes to the ceiling pleading for patience.

This whole thing was such bullshit. What the fuck was _she_ so pissed off about? Brandon was the one whose whole life had gotten completely turned upside down, his sight taken, his ability to walk creeping along at a snail's pace, then to up and move away from everything he'd ever known-for _her_, no less. He yells at her one fucking time and this is what happens? He said he was sorry, for Christ's sake! What more did she fucking want?

And to throw his depression back in his face like that, what the fuck was that? He hadn't had any suicidal thoughts since...since before Scott, actually. He'd found a way to deal with it just fine without her help, thank you very much. Well, sort of. Technically speaking the entire reason he even created Scott was so that he wouldn't upset her by...acting like he just had, actually. Still, aside from this one slip he'd done pretty fucking good. That was all for her too, and here she was acting like he hadn't even been trying.

_Should run a test_, Brandon thought as he continued to stew on the couch, laying back with his arms crossed over his chest as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling. _Slap a blindfold on her and tell her she's not allowed to use her legs. Bet she wouldn't make it past a fucking day. Probably wouldn't even last an hour._

Yeah, make her go an hour living like he'd had to live for the past few _months_, then maybe she'd get it. He had a right to be pissed off every once a while.

"I'm leaving," Teva suddenly announced as she crossed through the living room, bag in tow.

Brandon didn't even make the attempt to look in her direction. He wouldn't have even if he'd been _wearing_ his glasses, he was so fucking pissed at her. "Whatever," he responded, his tone icy. The slightest twinge of guilt and fear pulled at him as he heard the door open though, and he sat up just before it could close. The words "be careful" shot out of his mouth almost as if they were their own sentient beings, simply utilizing his body as a living vessel until they were ready to fly out on their own. There was real concern with the words, along with the hidden 'I love you' that he was still too angry to actually say out loud at the moment.

Teva likewise responded with "whatever" before she clicked the door shut, but the retaliation hadn't seemed quite as biting as his had been. She just sounded annoyed, and if he wasn't mistaken, a little bit relieved. Relieved that she was leaving for a while, or relieved that he hadn't let her go with only a '_fuck off_' as his only departing words? Maybe both. He hoped it was both and not _just_ because she was getting away from him for a little while.

How long _was_ a little while anyway? He realized then that she hadn't even told him how long she was supposed to be gone for. How the hell was he supposed to know when to expect her back and when he should start to worry? Fuck, he didn't know anything about _anything_-who she signed with, where she was going, who was on her team, none of that. Granted being a 'runner tended to mean you didn't give out the details to anybody who wasn't on the 'run, but to leave him absolutely nothing at all, no when or where to send the cavalry, it was unnerving.

Swallowing down some of his pride, he vocalized a quick text message to send to her comm, just a simple request to check in when she could. Hopefully she'd be willing to do that much for him. If he had to sit around the apartment being angry, lonely, _and_ in a constant state of worry, his attitude was going to be even _worse_ when she got back.

* * *

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 5

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Warnings: sensual content toward the end

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: The character Bailo is from a story in this same world, but earlier in the timeline, which hasn't been completed yet. A short summary is that Bailo and Feral were working on opposite sides.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

Even though she was still simmering, Teva called Madden, and asked him to stop in and check on Bran while she was gone. "Maybe you could talk to Red too. They seem to get along in that quiet-asshole kind of way."

Laughing, Madden wondered, "Did you have a fight?"

"That obvious, hey?" she drawled.

"Only to someone who knows you."

The bullet train to Dallas went quickly, then there was another on a smaller line that would take her to the CAS/Aztlan border. It was on the second train that she finally met the rest of the team in a private car. There was Killswitch, an orc named Tamarin, and-

"Oh, Jesus, not you," she groaned.

Bailo grinned. "Hola, mami, como estas?"

At the border, they all filed off the train, and met Killswitch's contact, a smuggler named Rosada, who was going to get them in and out of the country with Aztlan none the wiser. Four people in the back of a truck in a genuine hidden compartment was not comfortable at all, and they were all grateful as soon as they passed through border inspection unscathed, leaving them able to ride the rest of the way on top.

Thus day one was spent traveling, and then catching up on some much needed sleep once they'd reached their destination, Nogales. There was an abandoned abode-style house at the end of the block in a crappy neighborhood where they holed up. Feral grabbed the back bedroom, the one with the least-stained mattress, a solid-looking door, and a window without bars on it just in case she needed to make a quick exit.

She didn't think about her boyfriend and how they'd left things.

Her mind was tuned in to the job, and that was a good thing.

In the morning, Feral stumbled out of bed, yawning, and put her boots and her weapons back on, heading for the kitchen where Tamarin was cooking on a little camp stove set on top of the counter. There appeared to be coffee, for which she was grateful and murmured appropriate thanks, and she asked, "What do I have to do to get you to cook me some breakfast too?"

"Just ask nice," Tamarin replied. "More than happy to do it. I like cooking."

"Please?" she smiled so sweetly that it was rather obnoxious, but it made Tamarin chuckle. He cracked a few more eggs into the pan, and tossed two more soy-sausage patties in the opposite one. Content, Feral slithered over to where Killswitch, who had wound up being a dark-skinned Afro-Caribbean with his dark hair cut into almost a mohawk pattern, but shaved down so it was only a short distance from his scalp, and Bailo were balanced on milk crates, looking over a digitally projected building layout in AR.

Dragging over another crate, Feral joined in on the party as they planned out the demolition as a group.

When Killswitch got up to get a refill on his soycaf and promptly bitched because it was cold, to which Tamarin asked smartly, "You want your eggs cooked all the way through? Then shut the fuck up," Feral looked at Bailo.

Bailo smiled back patiently.

"So," she asked, "seen my sister lately?"

He nodded. "She stopped by a few months ago. Don't know how she knew where I lived. Scared the hell out of me. Nearly shot the little bruja before I realized who it was." Pausing thoughtfully, Bailo added, "I think she likes me."

Teva shrugged. "Having Tamsin like you is a lot better than having her not like you. Just ask Fuzzy." Both she and Bailo shared a look, then started chuckling.

"You sick, mami. Now I know it's hereditary," the other adept chuckled.

A few hours later, after breakfast and a workout, and a sparring session with Bailo, she stepped into the dining room where the guys were hanging out, playing some kind of dice game, and said pointedly, "Somebody please tell me I can get a shower up in this bitch."

The guys looked at each other and laughed. "Sure, I'll just go fire up the hose," Killswitch wheezed, slapping his knee repeatedly.

"Oh, fuck all o' ya'll," Feral drawled. "Fine, I'm gonna go figure out how to get a shower." Hauling her stuff with her, she headed for the trucker's gas station, and rented their shower for a little while. Significantly cleaner and thus happier, she walked back to the safe house. There the team refined their plans for getting rid of the pharmaceutical manufacturer.

Thus day two was spent almost entirely on planning. That meant day three was going to be all about execution.

* * *

"Brandon. Relax," Madden instructed, humor laced throughout his tone.

He and Brandon had been "watching" soaps together, but Bran couldn't get into it. Madden _actually_ translated what was going on, not putting the comedic theatrics into it like Teva did, and that left Brandon feeling even more fidgety than he had been before. Not that he wasn't grateful for the troll's company-anything was better than having to spend his days cooped up in the apartment in a strange city all by himself-but with the way he and Teva had left things...

Brandon made his leg stop bouncing up and down. "Why hasn't she texted or something? What if something happened to her? It's been two days!"

Madden turned away from the trid to give Brandon a pointed look. "Exactly. It's _only_ been two days. How many 'runs have you been on where the action started on day one?"

Stupid Madden and his stupid logic. It didn't make Brandon feel any better about the situation. If she hadn't actually started the 'run yet, that meant she was just not talking to him on purpose. Had she really been that mad at him when she left? Was he really making her life _that_ miserable? The thought made his chest ache, not so much at the fear that she might very well throw him back to L.A. to be by himself again, but at the notion that he had pushed her to that point. The last thing he wanted was for her to be unhappy, but he was the one who was ruining everything for her.

A large hand thumped up against his arm. "Don't over analyze it," Madden instructed. "Couples argue. I'd honestly be worried if you _didn't_. She's just blowing off steam the best way she knows how. It'll be fine when she gets back."

Knowing that Madden was one of Teva's best friends, that did make Brandon feel marginally better, but not by much. The situation between him and Teva, it wasn't something either of them had been through before. There was no real way to know whether everything would be fine, or where that final crossed line would be waiting for them like a spring trap ready to blow their worlds apart. For all Brandon knew he'd already triggered it, and was just biding his time before she came home and told him to get the fuck out of her life.

"I need to take a walk or something," he blurted out, pushing himself up on his crutches. His elbow protested a little bit at the action, the bruising making it more difficult than usual to get around, which had made these last two days that much more unbearable for him. Madden had caught onto Brandon's mobility issues when he'd stopped by the afternoon before and caught Brandon pulling up short with his wheelchair rotations, the act of extending his arm all the way out proving to be a painful nuisance. The troll hadn't really left after that except for when Brandon wanted to sleep, then he'd shown back up fairly early in the morning. Brandon had to admit, the guy was pretty fucking good at playing Mother Hen without making it _look_ like that's what he was doing, and the effort was appreciated.

"Mind if I tag along?" Madden asked, as Brandon expected him to. "It's a nice night, and I could use the exercise."

With a wordless nod, Brandon led the way to the elevator, not failing to notice that the troll had casually reached for the chair on the way out. They'd only made it down the street a little ways before Brandon found himself sitting in it, just letting the troll take him wherever and letting his mind run itself in circles. He'd have to do better, try harder, be more independent. Tomorrow. He'd start on that tomorrow, maybe get the apartment as clean as he could, figure out how to take care of the laundry, buy her a teddy bear, or something less cutesy and more Feral. Either way he had to do _something_ to keep his mind occupied besides just hanging out with Madden, otherwise he was going find himself in one of his downward spirals. That was that _last_ thing that Teva would want to come home to.

* * *

The first phase of the plan started at eleven am when the first shift workers arrived. Unlike some basement operation, this was big business illegals. Aside from a couple hours in the morning when the place was empty except for a few guards, the warehouse was constantly used for cooking, cutting, packing, and shipping.

Tamarin was a hacker and a drone rigger, and he short circuited the electric fence on the back of the property so that Feral, Killswitch, and Bailo could sneak in. They stayed low and fast, Killswitch taking point, and she and Bailo following behind. Using hand signals, the three of them spread out and tackled different parts of the compound. Hauling herself up through a second story window, Feral started at the top while the boys took the first floor.

The bosses, the higher-ups in the organization used the second floor, and there weren't a lot of them in at that particular time of day. With a silenced pistol, it was easy enough to eliminate them. By the time she cleared the area, and made it downstairs, there was a decent-sized pile of bodies up against one wall, hidden from the drivers and second shift workers that would come in later that day.

"Done?" Killswitch asked quickly as he and Bailo finished moving the last of the corpses.

"Area's cleared," Feral agreed.

Then there were a few hours of playing the waiting game, and the three of them sat around playing cards, using cigarettes to bet like prison inmates. Tamarin stayed off site in the parking garage on the lot next door, safe inside a van, keeping an eye on the security cams. Every once in awhile a stray worker would come in, and they'd play quick draw to see who could hit him the fastest.

It was a little sick, but she was in that zone where there was no conscience, just static, just getting the job done and getting paid.

Bailo and she set the charges to raze the building just moments before the afternoon shift showed up. Confused by the fact that the cars from the day shift were all still there, the employees meandered in like cattle to slaughter. From a safe distance away in the garage, Killswitch hit the trigger...

...and the building didn't blow.

"What the fuck?" she blurted out.

He hit it again and cursed. "Something must be wrong with the trigger. We'll need to do it manually."

"We only have a few fucking seconds before they find the bodies," Bailo cursed.

Grinding out her cigarette underneath her boot heel, Feral grinned sharply. "I got an idea. Tamarin, can you get me a bike?" There were a few in the area, and the orc hacked one easily, starting it up for her. "Get the van down to the ground floor. We've only got a few seconds, and I'll need it to catch me."

"What?" Killswitch started, but she was already off, the engine revving between her legs as she raced up the ramps to the top floor. "Shit, go! Go!" he yelled at the rigger.

There was a skylight on the roof of the warehouse, and it happened to leave an opening right to the furnace. Heat plus gas equals boom. The smaller explosion would trigger the charges, obliterating the area, and everyone inside. There'd be no evidence left. All she had to do was jump the bike with the correct arc, and get off before actually impacting with the skylight. Piece of cake.

Tightening her grip on the throttle, Feral sent the bike speeding up to the roof. There was a construction area up there, and in one corner was a pile of building materials including some panels that would make an excellent jump...provided they held underneath the weight of the bike. She picked up even more speed, heading straight for the jump. It was probably the only time that she actually qualified as an optimist, because she was hoping she was going fast enough, that the wood was thick enough...

The angle was perfect, she thought, adjusting minutely to hit the skylight in the right part of the warehouse. The bike would plow right into the furnace closet. The ramp bent, but held, her speed too quick for it to fracture under the pressure, and then she was airborne, the bike arcing over the few yards between the edge of the garage and the warehouse next door. At its apex, Feral loosened her grip. She simply...let go, and let gravity do its thing while the motorcycle flew on without her.

The crash of glass coincided with her landing on the roof, crouched and slapping her hands onto the pitch-coated roof just in time to push herself up and run for the ledge, hoping that the van would be below in time. She heard an engine, something more subtle than the roar of the bike, and a screech of tires. Trusting, Feral ran for the ledge and leapt.

_Cat, if you're listening, now would be a good time to help a girl out._

Her feet touched metal that buckled under her weight, but she had too much kinetic energy to stop without serious injury. Feral tucked her head and threw herself forward to roll off the van. A dizzy moment passed where her back touched metal, and a view of indigo night sky passed overhead. She hit the ground hard, and awkwardly, and felt something give in her abdomen. There wasn't time to analyze it because the first explosion happened.

The door to the cargo area slid open, and Bailo shouted, "Come on!"

Feral pushed herself up with determination, and ran for the door, clasping his outstretched hand and letting him pull her in. The van was moving before they even had the door closed.

The rest of the charges were triggered in quick succession, tumbling the warehouse and killing the last of the employees. A shower of debris hit the van, but Tamarin didn't flinch, speeding away even faster. The G-force sent the door rolling closed all on its own.

As she lay on the floor of the cargo area catching her breath, Bailo had the balls to say, "Why'd you get to have all the fun?"

Extending a hand, she flipped him off, but was smiling as she did it. Even knowing that she'd injured herself, and that what she'd done was incredibly risky, Feral couldn't help feeling exhilarated by it. Startled by the sound of her own laughter, Teva made herself quiet down.

Killswitch called back from the front seat, "Everybody okay back there?"

"Yep," Bailo replied.

"Uh, injured, uncertain of the extent," Feral followed up by saying.

"Well, I can see you've got some road rash from your stylish skid on the gravel," Bailo said, "and a few little cuts from shrapnel."

"I cracked at least one rib," she answered.

"Can't feel it yet?" he asked knowingly.

"No, not yet."

"You will soon," he grinned, and started prodding.

He was right, she thought a minute later, she was definitely feeling it now, and it was three cracked ribs, not one.

* * *

Brandon was up early the next day, earlier than usual, and sent off a quick message to Madden not to come by. He didn't want the troll to feel obligated to help him with the chores, nor did he want his attempts at taking care of everything on his own to be clouded by "Well, Madden did half the work, but I tried!" Bypassing his morning exercises and sight practice, he started with the dishes, a task he had mastered early on in his disability. Everything got put away according to Teva's system despite how much he wanted to rearrange her whole kitchen. Even when he'd first been living in his safe house and had pretty much just let himself make a mess of the place in favor of putting most of his time into Lonnie, his mild organization attempts still made more sense than hers. Her setup was _stupid._

_Not stupid, just different,_ he told himself, and "different" was one of the reasons he loved Teva so much to begin with. She had her own way of doing things, and that way wasn't always going to coincide with Brandon's, especially in her own place. _Her _place, not theirs, not yet. It wasn't ever _going_ to be "their place" if he wound up making her hate him either.

God, he hoped he hadn't already done that. If she came back and told him to get the fuck out, he didn't think he could handle it, not on top of everything else. That was if she came back at all. He still hadn't heard from her. If something happened to her and he let her walk out without telling her that he loved her...

"Stop it," he sternly told himself. His mind was putting him in a dark place, that place Teva had thrown at him during their argument. He was supposed to be proving to her that he could manage things just fine on his own so she'd be happy with him again, not solidify her fear that he'd...how'd she put it? Slit his wrists if she left him alone for a few days? That's what had her so on edge with him, so fed up with him lately-he'd gone back to flunking out of his Emo Bitch class.

The thought of that first crush confession which had jumpstarted his and Teva's relationship put a slight smile on his face as he worked at mopping the kitchen floor, the process going slow and a little clumsy as he had to work at maneuvering his chair and guiding the mop at the same time. The cold pack he'd taped to his elbow was definitely hindering the process, but he was managing. It didn't hurt as much today anyway, something he was insanely glad for. He was starting to wonder if he hadn't chipped or fractured something.

The living room wasn't so bad as they tended to keep it fairly tidy, particularly with Brandon having to go without his glasses off and on, and the only real challenge had been the vacuum. Like the mop, Teva still had one of the old manual models, and he found that it was too hard to push around from the angle of his chair. Awkwardly doing it with the use of one crutch brought back his frustration as he found himself needing to stop more often than he'd like, on the ground a couple times when his arm or legs gave out, and struggling with turning the vacuum around the tight corners. Things only got worse from there.

Cursing himself for not leaving the most physical part of the cleaning for last, Brandon had to try to take care of the bathroom from his chair. He didn't fit well and kept running into the wall or the sink or the bathtub, unable to really turn around at all. In trying to get into the tub so he could clean the shower walls he wound up tripping himself a little bit and instinctively grabbed at the shower curtain, pulling that down from the bar. Pursing his lips together, he calmed himself down by trying to be glad that at least he hadn't actually fallen, and set about making an attempt to put the curtain back up. He couldn't reach high enough to do it, not with his need to lean so heavily on the crutches by that point, and eventually had to concede to the fact that he couldn't do it.

That'd be a minus on his report card when Teva got home.

Brandon left the bathroom in a hurry so he wouldn't resort to breaking mirrors, turning his attention to the bedroom instead. _Do a little dusting, skip the vacuum, and take care of the laundry. _That shouldn't have been too hard. Like Teva said, all he had to do was put the basket on his chair and wheel it down to the first floor. Oh, except for the part where he couldn't divide up the loads by color, or couldn't read the tags on the items that might have special instructions. He wound up having to settle for pulling anything out that he wasn't sure of, and washing the rest of it together (sans bleach, of course) in hopes that everything else had already been through the cycle enough times not to bleed color anymore. The thought that he might have inadvertently ruined something ate at him as he chose to just stay down with the machine, listening to it whir and hum as it possibly destroyed one of his or Teva's favorite shirts. By the time he got back upstairs his stomach was twisted in knots, and he wished he could just go back and tell himself to skip the laundry.

_Not an option_, he sighed. That was one of the things he _had_ to do, the only real chore that Teva had directly complained about. He needed to show her that he could do it so she had one less thing to be angry about.

Or maybe he'd just proven to her that he _couldn't_ do it and had made matters that much worse. It didn't help that he realized very quickly that he would have trouble putting things away. He could identify some of the articles of clothing that were more unique, but there were too many shirts that were too similar, some of which he couldn't even tell whether they belonged to him or Teva. He couldn't just hang them up anywhere or shove them into any drawer; that would mess up his whole color code system. Taking deep breaths in hopes of not allowing himself to get upset or overwhelmed, he shoved everything hanging in the closet to one side, put a few empty hangers in between as a divider, and hung up everything he couldn't identify together so Teva could maybe put them away in their proper places when she got back. At least they would stay free of wrinkles that way.

Not that it would matter if all those clothes looked like tie dye projects now.

Thinking about that, and looking at the pile of things he wasn't able to wash, the floor he didn't have the energy to vacuum, and knowing that the shower curtain was just draped over the edge of the tub in the bathroom he hadn't finished cleaning, that feeling of despair was getting harder and harder to keep at bay. These were very simple tasks, things that he _should_ be able to handle on his own. No wonder Teva was getting so fucking fried with having to take care of him. He wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to do it anymore.

But then he'd be left by himself in a constant loop of trying and failing to do these everyday tasks. Brandon Wilson, the kid that overcame the worst childhood imaginable, who managed to get by for years without anybody's help, who did more solo 'runs with greater success than he had working on a team, was now nothing more than a blind cripple in need of a fucking nanny just to get through a single day.

Rolling himself out to the living room so he could see where he'd succeeded instead of where he'd failed, Brandon tried to keep fighting back the oncoming depression. He turned on the trid just to give himself something to listen to, to try to keep his mind off his self-pity, but still wound up making a call to Teva's comm. Of course, her voicemail picked up.

"Hi, an- Teva. I just...uh, wanted to make sure you were okay, and to tell you I'm sorry. _Really_ sorry. Please-" He closed his eyes, making a decision to alter what he was about to say and pulling from any one of countless confident, collected personas that were stored away in his vault. "Please don't feel like you need to rush home or anything. You need a break, I get it. I'm not exactly making things easy on you, and again I'm sorry for that. I'm okay though, so if you're having fun I don't want you to cut that short or anything on my account. Not that I was assuming you were going to, but you know, just in case you were worried about it. I'm fine, and you were right about everything. Take care of yourself, and I'll see you when you get back. I love you."

What he wanted to do was beg her to come home, to tell her he really _wasn't_ ready to go for days without help just yet, that his one day by himself where he'd tried to be a productive human being had been wrought with failure. That would've been just another guilt trip though, exactly the thing she was trying to avoid. In fact, instead of waiting for her to come home and fix his mistakes, he figured he should just hide all of it and call Madden tomorrow for help. If he was going to be wallowing in his inability to perform simple tasks, he could at least do it in front of someone who _wasn't_ Teva for once. She'd never need to know.

* * *

After their quick get-away, the guys volunteered to take her to a clinic and get those ribs looked at. Feral protested more than once saying, "Guys, really, it's cool. They're just cracked, and unless they've got a healer on staff willing to patch me up, there's nothing they can do. Since clinic healers aren't allowed to fully heal any wound-'cause, you know, that'd be too easy and convenient-I'd rather just wait until I get back to my place. I know a guy who'll heal me up mostly free of charge."

Her argument convinced them, and they went to meet Rosada again for another harrowing trip over the border. It was a lot worse that time, hiding in the smuggling cubby with three other guys. She couldn't make herself small enough, and no matter what she did there was pain.

Pretty much the next day of travel was spent high on pain patches.

Finally, waiting in Dallas to catch the bullet train back to New Orleans, Teva checked her comm for messages. It surprised her to read not only Brandon's text message, but to listen to his voicemail. He sounded good, well, mostly good, and that was good. She'd needed for him to dig deep and scrounge up some of that scrappy survivalist attitude if this was going to work at all. She had to stop taking care of him; Teva wasn't a nursemaid, and being constantly saddled with that role was taking its toll not just on her, but on her relationship.

She wasn't mad because Brandon yelled at her, Teva realized. Rather that was just the spark that lit the fuse for a bomb that had been sitting, waiting for the right provocation to explode. The impatience, the urge for a little more freedom and independence had been gnawing at her for months, and she had ignored it, pushed away those feelings because Brandon needed her to be strong for him, to buckle down and just do what needed to be done without focusing on her own desires.

But he hadn't caused this by himself. The light bulb went on, and Teva finally got that even though her gentler feelings for Brandon urged her to spare him from any hurt, that the urge to protect him was making her lie. It was forcing her to shut him out of how she really felt because she feared his reactions.

They couldn't go on like that, she finally understood. The lies, even to spare his feelings, were putting distance between them. If they had any hope of learning how to live together, how to be a real couple whose relationship went beyond the sex and shallow happiness, then they had to learn how to talk to one another openly. Honestly. Without fear of the repercussions.

She texted Bran late that night from the train to let him know she was on her way home, and not to wait up because she'd be coming in very late.

It was oh-dark-thirty by the time Teva stepped off the train platform, and with a sigh she conceded that she couldn't walk all the way back to their apartment from the middle of downtown, not with her ribs as fucked up as they were, and needing to carry a huge bag with her. Reluctantly, she had a cab drive her home, and the guy was nice enough to notice that she was moving very gingerly. Plus, the scrapes on her face kind of tipped him off that she was injured. Anyway, the cabbie parked his car after she'd paid him, and locked up, noting the neighborhood-nevermind the fact that the local gangs gave the area a wide berth after _somebody_ had set fire to or blown up any drug houses they tried to establish within a five block radius-and carried her bag into the building for her until she got on the elevator. Smiling tiredly, she said thanks and gave him a nice fat tip.

Teva could afford it now; she had the nuyen. As usual, she decided that a portion of it was going into her savings fund.

On the seventh floor, she got off the lift, dragging her bag behind her by the long strap down the hallway to the last apartment door on the right. The building was strange, designed in a large shape that almost looked like a capital I turned on its side, but living at the end of the hall meant she had a little more square footage than the interior apartments, and more windows. Unfortunately, those windows opened up to a view of the apartment on the other side of the building. It wasn't much of a sight, but at least she got more light than some of the others.

Not that there was any light at all at oh-dark-thirty.

Her old-fashioned keys in the locks opened the apartment up to her, and she quickly keyed in the code, and closed everything back up. With a sigh, she dragged her bag into the living room so it would be out of Brandon's way, tucked in next to the couch, and shrugged off her jacket and weapons without even bothering to lock them up as per the usual.

The thought of bending down to take off her boots nearly made her cry, so she headed for the bedroom with them still on, her mind on getting a few hours of sleep before calling Red in the morning.

Brandon murmured sleepily as she climbed into bed, "Angel?"

"Mm-hm," Teva replied, trying not to talk as she got into position on her side sans busted ribs. She slid in behind him, attempting to use him as a very large heating pad.

"Why're you on top of the covers?" he asked, beginning to turn around. Sadly, the movement jostled him against her ribs, and she gasped, shooting out her hand to grip him hard on the waist.

"No moving," she hissed. "I cracked a couple ribs. Just...careful..."

_Shit!_

Brandon made himself hold still until it sounded like Teva was breathing okay again, then very carefully relaxed himself back into his previous position. She'd been injured, just like he'd been worried about, and why the fuck was she here still being injured instead of having gotten some help?

"Just the ribs?" he asked, making himself sound calm.

He felt her shrug against him ever so slightly as she eased herself closer. "Some scrapes and bruises."

"You...need me to get you anything or call someone?" he asked hesitantly, trying to find a way to talk around the fact that he probably wouldn't be able to see most of her wounds if they needed to be tended to.

Her hand snaked up higher to press against his chest as she nuzzled her face between his shoulder blades. "Just need some sleep," she murmured.

Brandon nodded, having no choice but to accept her word that she'd at least be fine through the night. Trying to fight her, to get up to at least get her a patch or something would only jostle her injuries, so he chose to remain perfectly still. First thing in the morning though, they were going to a clinic or getting Red over there or something. He wasn't comfortable with her being in pain for _any_ length of time.

Now fully awake, Brandon kept one of his hands firmly atop Teva's and turned his hearing fully onto the sound of each of her breaths. They were a little shallow, especially considering she had fallen asleep a few minutes earlier, but that was to be expected given her whole busted rib situation. Other than that she seemed to be okay. Hopefully. He distinctly remembered her stubborn ass dragging his half-dead self through a temple with a critical stab wound. For all he knew she was bleeding internally and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

The thought scared him, waking him up even more so he could tune into her vital signs even closer. His hand adjusted itself on her wrist so he could feel her pulse thrumming steadily beneath his fingers, and he made himself listen even closer to her breathing pattern. If anything changed for the worse, anything at all, he was calling Red. She was his only focus right then; nothing else mattered.

Earlier that day he'd been a shameful wreck as he called Madden over for help. Something about the troll just screamed "tell me your problems" for some reason, and Brandon found himself unloading onto the guy his frustrations and fears about not being able to physically give Teva what she wanted. That statement had been misunderstood for an awkward few seconds before Brandon further explained himself, pointing out the shower curtain and laundry issues and barely being able to handle the vacuum. After sporting a relieved smile, Madden set about assuring Brandon that if Teva was going to leave him it probably wasn't going to be due to his failed attempts at household chores. The fact that he'd made a genuine effort and had, for the most part, done a good job was what would matter. It also helped that Brandon had managed not to ruin the clothes, after all, and Madden got them put away in their proper places along with finishing up the ones that Brandon had been uncertain of. In hindsight, he realized he could've just scanned the tags into his tablet, but he'd been well across that line of rational thought by the time he'd gotten to the laundry the day before. It was something he stored away in his memory for later though.

By the time the shower curtain got put back up and the bathroom finished, Brandon was actually feeling a little less sorry for himself. Madden had kept things light, and aside from the fact that Teva still hadn't responded to the text or the voicemail, Brandon felt like maybe he wasn't going to get swallowed by the dark cloud hanging over his head after all.

"How do you do that?" he wound up asking out of the blue as he and Madden settled onto the couch to watch soaps again.

"Do what?" the troll asked.

"I don't know. You...put things in perspective so easily, half the time without even _saying_ much of anything. It's like you exude 'feel better' vibes or some shit." Brandon had to laugh at his own awkward statement, but it was true.

Madden seemed to think it was funny too, but after a few seconds his amused smile turned a little softer and a little sad. "We'll just call it learning from experience and leave it at that."

Nodding, Brandon turned his attention to the sound of the trid and to Madden's translations, both of them just hanging out until it got late enough for the troll to call it quits. He'd said he would be back tomorrow...which was technically today, now, unless Brandon called to say otherwise. That was yet to be determined. It all depended on how Teva was doing, because if her breath so much as hitched or her pulse skipped a beat, he was calling in whoever he could to make sure she'd be alright. If she got mad at him for that, well, tough shit. They'd both get over it once she was healthy again.

* * *

Morning came, quick and bright despite the fact that it was autumn now, and it didn't match the coolness in the air. Her eyes opened, and with it brought awareness of her body, of the aches and pains it was suddenly expressing in earnest. "Baby?" Teva murmured sleepily, and nuzzled her nose against the back of Brandon's neck, strands of dark hair tickling her face. She said it unthinkingly, having temporarily forgotten in her muzzy mind that she'd vowed to stop using the demeaning endearment months ago.

"Yeah, angel?" her boyfriend replied, sounding surprisingly awake. His fingers flexed on her wrist, drawing her attention to the location.

Pausing thoughtfully, she slowly asked, "Are you taking my pulse?"

Brandon's silence was answer enough. Teva snorted weakly, because laughing hurt. "I'd have told you if it was serious, but thank you for your concern. Anyway, that was so not what I wanted to ask. Sorry, got off track." Swallowing to wet her dry throat, she asked, "Could you, um, do me a few favors if you're feeling up to it?"

"Absolutely," Brandon said, and maybe it was just her imagination but he sounded relieved. Eager to help, maybe. "What do you need?"

"I need...fuck, I need my comm so I can call Red, see if he can make a house call because now that I'm not moving anymore, my everything hurts." She cursed herself inwardly when her voice took on a bit of a whine at the end there.

"Can I use my comm?" Bran asked. "I have it right here."

"Yeah, that's fine," Teva agreed, and rather sweetly, she kind of rubbed Brandon's chest, almost like she was petting him. "Before you do that though, I have a few other requests."

"Okay," he said slowly, then stated, "Angel, I don't think you're really in any condition to be initiating sex."

"No, not that," she huffed, exasperated with the male condition translating any form of physical affection into an invitation for sex.

Brandon chuckled at the tone.

Trying again, Teva asked, "Can you get me a pain patch from the first aid kit? There's a compartment on the right, and there's a row of patches there. The pain ones are in the smallest packages. There should be one right in front."

"Yep, okay," Brandon agreed eagerly, but before he could move, she sank her teeth into the back of his neck lightly. He apparently got the message and stilled. "Something else?" he asked with a thread of amusement.

"Yes," Teva stated in her 'duh' voice. "The soft ice pack is in the freezer door. Then I will give you free blowjobs for life if you help me get my boots untied and my jeans off."

"So just to clarify," Brandon began, "call Red, get the pain patch, get the ice pack, get you partially undressed?"

"Yes," she hissed sibilantly, and scooted a little ways away from his back so that his moving wouldn't hurt her too badly. "I love you. I'm sorry I yelled at you," Teva added as an afterthought as Bran sat up and put his glasses on, and reached not for the arm crutches but for his chair. It'd probably be easier for him to carry the requested items back to the room as his lap rather than using the crutches.

Wheeling around toward the door, Brandon briefly touched her calf and said, "I love you too, and I'm sorry I yelled." He moved on then, and was instructing his comm to call Red before he'd even made it to the bathroom, where the first aid kit lurked in the cabinet under the sink.

Teva closed her eyes again, blocking out the bright morning light. Maybe it'd be kind of nice to have somebody to dote on her when she was all injured and not feeling good. There was a sense of relief at knowing that she didn't have to reignite the burning, stabbing pain in her ribs to go get a slap patch or untie her boots, that Brandon not only could but would help her out if she asked for it. That was a nice feeling, something warm and sweet that she vaguely remembered from when she'd lived with her family. A little smile quirked her lips upward.

"Yes?" Red answered Brandon's call, sounding a little annoyed. That was odd; Brandon didn't think it was too early. He'd been able to see the light at the window a little bit.

Shrugging it off, Brandon worked at maneuvering himself so he could get into the cabinet. "Hey, could you come over here? Teva came back from her 'run a little worse for wear."

There was a long sigh at the other end. "Is she dying?"

"If she was dying I would've called a clinic," Brandon said, having some difficulty keeping the annoyance out of his own voice. Did Red honestly think he would be this casual if Teva were actually in trouble? "No, she's kinda banged up and cracked some ribs."

Brandon paused as he heard voices in the background. When Red responded he seemed even more perturbed, but Brandon couldn't tell whether it was at him or because of who the elf was with. "She'll have to wait. I can't always just put everything on hold to come be her on call medic. Keep her in bed and I'll be over tonight when I'm done with what I'm doing."

Red hung up without another word, leaving Brandon a little miffed. Tonight? That meant it was up to him to take care of Teva for the rest of the day. Well, no, Madden would be coming soon-

"Absolutely not," Teva shot down after letting out a stream of obscenities directed towards the absent Red. "I don't need an audience to my misery."

Brandon understood that all too well, never one for a ton of company after his treatments either. As soon as he got the slap patch on her arm he made his way to the kitchen for the ice pack and dialed up Madden in the process. All he said was that Teva was back so he wouldn't need the troll's company, and that Madden had been right, there hadn't been anything to worry about as far as the relationship went. He didn't mention that he'd been right to worry about Teva getting injured. That was up to her to decide whether she wanted to tell her friend or not.

"Okay, Mama Madden's been called off," Brandon said with a smile as he came back into the bedroom, handing Teva the ice pack.

"Thank god," she sighed, adjusting the pack where she wanted it. Brandon wasn't sure whether she was responding to his news or just voicing her joy over having gotten drugs and ice.

After a moment of watching her, making sure she was doing alright and the patch was kicking in, he rolled back towards the end of the bed. Quietly, he undid the laces on her boots and was able to slip them off without hardly having to move her legs at all.

"Angel, I'm going to work you out of your pants, okay? Don't try to help." With a naughty little smirk he added, "This isn't my first time."

Brandon was actually rather skilled at stripping clothing off less than helpful females, and not because of nefarious reasons. Many drunken parties over the years led to many drunken women, and though he was careful not to take advantage of the ones that were clearly past the line of potential date rape, he also didn't like leaving them defenseless in someone else's care. Yeah, there'd been a girl or two...or more...that had woken up on his couch stripped of whatever clothing they'd puked all over and covered up with something else.

With Teva he was also trying not to make it a sexual act, but as he unzipped her pants and slipped his fingers around her hips to slide the material down over her buttocks, he couldn't help but get that slight arousal. This was his girlfriend, after all, and he hadn't heard from her for days. Hadn't heard from her after an intense argument, no less. This was supposed to be makeup sex time.

Instead, he settled for placing a feather-light kiss just below her naval as he proceeded to slowly guide her pants down her thighs. He put a kiss on each one of those too, then her kneecaps as they were exposed.

"What are you doing?" Teva finally asked, though she didn't sound exactly like she was telling him to stop.

"Spit meds," he answered with a grin, and eased one of the pant legs the rest of the way off. He placed a kiss on the exposed ankle, them up the foot to her toes.

"I'm not hurt there," she informed him, humor in her tone.

He shrugged. "Well, I can't see where your bruises are, so I'm covering my bases."

She didn't protest any further as he repeated his doctoring on the other leg, then very gently turned his attention to her lips. Lips could bruise too, he explained. She didn't protest that either.

* * *

Soft breaths, gentle suction, the cashmere caress of lips against hers...

It was breathtaking, and intoxicating her. She felt high on the feel of his tongue brushing hers, then tracing delicately the soft dips on the roof of her mouth, the areas more sensitive than the hard palate separating them in the middle.

Teva let loose a quiet sound, lost amidst the kiss, and tightened her fist in Brandon's shirt.

When it had become obvious that she wasn't quite ready to cease contact with him, Bran had carefully crawled back into bed so they lay face to face. Teva had hooked her leg over his so that even though her ribs prevented them from completely tangled in each other, they were still as close as was feasible, given her injury.

Her boyfriend drew back slightly and asked, voice pleasingly breathless, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No," she replied, voice husky and hot with arousal, and drew him nearer to her to kiss again with a hand cupping his jaw, feeling the little bit of scruff on his cheeks accumulated from eschewing his shaving for at least two days, probably since she'd been gone and thus not around to complain about beard burn (though truthfully, Teva was actually more fond of Brandon's facial hair than Brandon was).

With his lips returned to hers and feeling as though all was right with the world (and other corny shit), Teva found that she was smiling as they kissed. Her grip loosened on Brandon's t-shirt, and slid up to the vee of flesh revealed at the neck, running her fingertips over his skin, back and forth, tracing his collarbones until he shivered for her and briefly sucked on her bottom lip. Her legs pressed together tightly, putting pressure on her nether regions, which she'd grown increasingly aware of as the making out went on and on, the insistent beat there trapped, doomed to unfulfillment. That was kind of the fun part though; the anticipation, knowing that as turned on as she was right now, there would be no satisfaction, no place greater to take the moment than this.

It brought her back to being a teenager, and letting a boy touch her for the first time until she was flushed and breathless, but too scared to take it any further. Their love making had to be confined to the expression of their lips and what little could be achieved over the clothes, but definitely not under because that might send the wrong kind of message.

Besides, there was a line between teasing and cruelty, promising something she couldn't deliver.

Her stomach growled loudly, and Brandon pulled away so he could laugh. "Is it breakfast time?" he asked.

"I think so," Teva agreed, as she put a tentative hand to her belly, and felt it rumble again. Then she thought about getting up to find something to eat, and decided it wasn't worth the effort. In an hour, her stomach would forget it was hungry. She sighed.

Brandon started backing off of his side of the mattress, prompting Teva to ask plaintively, "Where are you going?"

"To make breakfast," he replied with a little laugh, as though she'd just asked something incredibly silly.

"Oh," she chirped, clearly surprised by this though she didn't know why. For some reason, Teva just hadn't expected him to...

"I'll make us something to eat, and you can have breakfast in bed," Brandon told her, climbing off the bed still in his boxers and the t-shirt he'd worn to bed last night, and plopping down into his wheelchair. "You'll have to sit up though," he murmured thoughtfully on his way out the door. "Wonder how we'll manage that."

While Brandon was busy in the kitchen, Teva decided that she would probably be better off "managing that" on her own. It was going to be painful no matter what, but trying to do it with Brandon in the room would just make it worse, because she'd see his pain at _her_ pain being reflected back at her.

Instead of trying to push herself up on the mattress, she thought the best approach for the situation would be to slowly stand up, inching back on the mattress with her legs bent until her feet hovered in the empty air, then turning in a quick twist and roll so that she sat up on the edge of the bed. Ivory teeth sank into an abused lower lip viciously, the pain distracting her ever so slightly from the red hot lightning spidering across the inside of her abdomen, slicing through her in jagged forked tongues of agony. When she thought she could move without whimpering, Teva pushed herself back onto her feet for the first time that day.

Automatically, she straightened up the bed, putting the dove gray comforter back into place, and folding the top sheet over the edge. Then Teva retrieved the throw pillows from where Brandon had a tendency to stack them on top of the dresser during the night-they needed to figure out a better system than that. Of course, when it was just her, she'd just shoved them over onto the side of the bed she wasn't using. Maybe some kind of end-of-the-bed storage bench, but it would have to wait until Brandon was out of the chair for good. There wasn't quite enough room for both. Righting the pillows, she proceeded to set up a little pillow nest for herself.

Once that was done, the only thing left was sitting down. Swallowing, she cleared her throat and asked, "Can you make some soycaf with breakfast too?"

"Already brewing," Brandon called back from the kitchen.

She was too predictable. "And can you bring a bottle of water with you when you come back? I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure thing!" he replied.

With her stall tactics exhausted, Teva lined herself up with the mound of pillows at the headboard. With her hand on top of the wood for support, she lowered her ass to the mattress, and spun, raising her legs back up onto the mattress. She let go of the headboard. "Not as bad as I thought it was going to be," Teva murmured with herself, then leaned a little more against the pillows behind her while she waited for breakfast to arrive.

* * *

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 6

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Warnings: naked characters!

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

Brandon placed the tray on his lap carefully and grinned at his creation. He'd made chocolate chip pancakes using the stored batter he'd whipped up a few days before, forming a big smiley face on the top pancake with the softened chips. He even added a little whipped cream for the hair, and placed the can on the tray next to the syrup in case Teva wanted more. Between those things, her soycaf, and her water, he was focusing so much on not spilling anything that he didn't notice Teva had managed to sit herself up until he was almost right next to the bed.

"Angel, you should've waited," he scolded. "I could've helped you."

"I obviously didn't need it," she answered, and reached for the tray with happy, eager grabbing motions.

Brandon shook his head at her. "Let me do it," he said, and waited for her to put her arms back down so he could set the tray up over her lap. He barely lifted it up before she took it upon herself to unsnap the legs for him, making it a little easier on him, yes, but he saw her wince as she had leaned forward. "Teva, I said let me do it," he scolded again, putting a little more heat into his tone to let her know that he meant it, and proceeded to lower the tray into position.

She looked at him like he was a crazy person. "What? Were you planning on unfolding the thing with your third arm?"

"No, I just would've had to-nevermind." It wasn't worth arguing over. He grabbed for the syrup instead. "How much do you want, or do you want more cream?"

When she didn't answer right away he glanced back up to see that the look she was giving him had darkened. "I can pour my own syrup," she informed him.

"I know," Brandon answered, trying to sound casual. He knew what this stubborn obstinacy was about. He'd been going through the same thing off and on for months. "I'm just trying to make it easier on you so you don't hurt yourself."

"Were you going to fork it into my mouth next? I'm injured, not an infant."

And then there was that part, something people actually _did_ have to do for Brandon for a few weeks before he could move his arms on his own again. That comment hurt a little, and he was glad that his glasses were hiding his eyes as he set the syrup container back down. Unlike Teva, he _had_ been as helpless as a newborn at the time, and that had and still did eat at him every time he found himself incapable of doing something.

"Right, you're right," he agreed, giving her a soft smile. The last thing he wanted was to start another fight, especially with her being hurt. "I'll just go get mine. I'll be right back."

The excuse to slip out was a valid one. It wasn't the first time he'd made her breakfast in bed by any means, and it was always too hard to hold both her meal and his on his lap, so typically he'd leave his on the counter until she was set up. This time though, it was more of a need to get out before he gave himself away, to not let her feel guilty over having made him feel bad again.

If he took just a little longer than usual in coming back, he was sure she wouldn't mind. Not too long though, because he wanted to be nearby in case she found that she did actually need him for something. He knew from experience too that no matter how independent she wanted to be there'd probably be _something_ she couldn't manage, and he planned on being there for her like she continually was for him, whether she liked it or not.

Her arms worked _fine_, goddammit. Teva tried to shake off the irritation, and just enjoy her breakfast, but it was a little hard when she knew the reason for that breakfast was that she couldn't get up to make her own. Nobody had ever looked so disproportionately angry while eating such happy, smiling pancakes.

By the time Brandon returned though, she had her face under control, at least, and her annoyance at the situation banked to a mere glow of embers.

"Sorry I snapped," she murmured between bites. That was the right thing to say, right? Apologize; let him know that she appreciated his efforts. It seemed like Teva was making an awful lot of apologies lately. She wondered idly if all couples were like this, if this was just how relationships were. If that was the case, then it was no wonder that she'd avoided them like the plague. This was awful! All the bickering and the "I'm sorrys."

"It's okay," Bran excused her behavior as he parked his wheelchair next to the bed, and grabbed the syrup off of her tray, which she hadn't actually used because chocolate chip pancakes were sweet enough without dumping tree-sugar on them. God, she was a dick. Why hadn't she just said "no thanks" like a normal person?

Pouring some of the syrup on his pancakes, he then returned the bottle to the tray. "I understand," Brandon soothed, "Nobody likes feeling helpless."

And that just tweaked her temper right back up. Teva swallowed her food, and said slowly, "I'm not helpless. A few cracked ribs are not enough to reduce me to helplessness. This-" She paused, waving a hand over herself, "-isn't exactly new for me. Shit like this happens to me fairly often, because that's the nature of my job. Normally, there just isn't anyone around to witness it."

Brandon paused between opening his mouth and speaking, fork poised halfway to his lips. Despite the calm, measured voice, he knew instinctively that he'd set her off. He couldn't explain to her how badly her being injured scared him, because he'd sworn to himself that he was going to start being tougher for her sake. He didn't say what he was thinking, that she shouldn't have to weather her injuries out alone, struggling to do things that ordinarily wouldn't be difficult tasks at all. He knew that would just irritate her further, and he could understand why. Teva wasn't ever going to be the type of person who could accept her weaknesses gracefully. She was too stubborn for that. Quietly, he finished zipping the bite of pancake into his mouth if only to give it something to do.

The rest of their breakfast was a quiet affair with Teva eating with single-minded focus, and Brandon following her example in between glances up at her to ascertain her condition when he thought she wasn't looking.

Finally, Teva sighed and sat back against the mound of pillow fluff, her plate empty, soycaf gone, and the water halfway there as well. "Thank you," she said, turning her head to look over at Brandon.

He smiled and replied, "No problem." Having finished a few minutes earlier than her, Brandon capped her water bottle, and set it next to her in bed, then stacked his things on top of hers and took the tray carefully. Teva snapped the legs back up-really, now she was just being obstinate-and watched him take the mess out of the room.

Now there was a problem. The first problem being that she was bored. The second problem being that she'd left her comm in the living room, and she was one of those weirdos who didn't think it was healthy to watch the trid in bed. Thus it was that Brandon returned to find her halfway through the step by step process that standing up had suddenly become.

She looked up questioningly when he made an odd noise, sort of like a bird squawk, and cried, "What are you doing? Sit back down!"

Refraining from commenting, Teva hauled herself up to her feet. After a moment, she relaxed into position, and smiled in satisfaction. To her boyfriend, she finally replied, "What's it look like? I'm moving." She made her way around the chair and out the bedroom door, down the hallway which opened up into the combination dining room, living room space. The furniture was on the far side of the space, while the dining area was an empty hole she'd never bothered to fill up with a table. "You could bring a blanket if you want," she called over her shoulder. "Maybe even come snuggle with me."

She waited until Brandon's chair poked out of their room, then spun around that tight corner. He was getting really good at maneuvering that thing, Teva thought, then smiled as he stopped at the linen closet to grab a quilt.

"You should not be walking around unnecessarily," Brandon muttered, the hard edge in his voice making it clear that he was annoyed with her. But as soon as he parked his chair perpendicular to the arm of the couch, and pushed himself up, turning slightly to sit down on the corner cushion.

Because of Teva's injury, she'd have to take the inside seat if she wanted to cuddle. That way her uninjured side would be up against his chest, and the injured side would stay far away. Sitting down carefully, she brought her legs up onto the other cushion next to her, then tucked her head on Bran's shoulder as he unfolded the blanket over them. Teva turned on the trid, and breezed through the channels until she found something with really good dialogue that would tell most of the story without needing the images.

She settled in contentedly, absorbed in the show until the first commercial break. It was during an ad for a new kind of toothpaste that Teva lifted Bran's hand up, his fingers curling around hers automatically, and pressed a kiss on his knuckles. "Thanks for putting up with me. I know I'm a pain in the ass," she said.

His lips quirked upward in a sweet smile, and Brandon kissed the top of her head, the strands of hair that tickled his nose smelling of fire, sweat, and her. "You're welcome," he murmured, then turned his attention back to the trid as the show came back on.

Okay, Brandon had to admit that moving out to the couch had been a good idea, even if Teva had gone against his wishes and done it on her own. So much for Red's orders to keep her in bed. Oh well, they were comfortable now, content, and it didn't seem like they'd be moving again any time-

"God, I need a shower," Teva muttered.

_Don't snap at her, don't snap at her, don't snap at her,_ Brandon repeated to himself as he tactfully moved his arm to sort of snuggle with her and hold her in place at the same time. "You're fine, babe. Why don't you wait 'til tonight after Red comes by?"

Bad move, apparently. That just made her seem more intent on getting up, and he was forced to let her go unless he wanted to risk hurting her.

"Brandon, I'm filthy and smell like a mixture of gunpowder and man-sweat," Teva argued as she, in turn, was forced to deal with him helping her ease herself upright. She kept her comments about that to herself though, and instead continued with her argument. "I'm sure Red would prefer it if he didn't have to touch me when I'm all gross."

For some reason the statement rubbed Brandon the wrong way. He wasn't the jealous type, not really, but this was Red she was talking about, the guy whose rejection of her was what had partially led her to L.A. and into Brandon's life in the first place. Before he could think about it he heard himself blurt out, "Why's it matter so much what Red thinks? I'm sure he's seen you in worse condition, right? You don't need to get cleaned up for him."

If Brandon thought the look she had shot him over the syrup thing was bad, this one was much worse. The anger was there, definitely the dominant emotion as evidenced by her furled brow, but he couldn't help but feel like there was something underlying that. Without actually being able to see the depth of the expression in her eyes though, he couldn't identify what that second emotion was.

"I'm not getting cleaned up for him," she said, her voice held in tight control. "I want to get cleaned up for _me._"

"Then why'd you even bring him-" Brandon bit his lip to keep himself from continuing. This wasn't supposed to turn into another fight day. This was supposed to be a day where they had gotten over the last fight and were happy with each other again; where Brandon could make himself feel helpful, and useful, and she would appreciate his efforts to return the favor for everything she had been doing for him since they'd first met back up. Clearly that wasn't going to happen, and he was just going to have to accept that. Taking a deep breath, he decided maybe a compromise would be a better tactic.

"Let me run you a bath at least," he suggested.

"Then I'll be soaking in a tub full of dirty water. I don't think you understand how disgusting I am."

"No, I don't," he agreed, a little edge to his tone despite his efforts. "I can't see it, remember? But it's okay, we can...let me get the water warmed up and you can just sit down with the bath pillow, let me rinse you off with the showerhead, then we'll fill up the tub after that so you can soak for a while. How's that sound?"

"It sounds like you want to bathe me like a dog," she grumbled.

"Is that what you-_urgh!_ Never mind. Just stay here long enough for me to warm up the water, okay? Can you please do that?"

At her reluctant nod, he transferred himself back into the chair and rolled down the hall before he could say anything he'd regret. Having to be spoon fed was for infants, having to be washed by someone else was for dogs-is that how she'd seen him all those days in the clinic? He knew she hadn't, but knowing it versus having to hear her voice the exact opposite were two different things.

_This isn't about me_, he reminded himself. This was all her, and she was just frustrated with her situation, nothing more. As long as he kept telling himself that it'd be fine.

No, better yet, as he heard the drawers opening in the bedroom as she got a change of clothes for herself (having apparently decided to put a two minute time cap on his request, which was about how long it took for the water to hit the right temperature), he altered his line of thinking. He didn't need to tell himself anything but the fact that she didn't _want_ his help, nor did she actually need it. Like she had said, it wasn't like she hadn't gone years taking care of herself before. He couldn't forcefully lay his situation over hers like a transparency, returning a favor that she didn't ask for. It was just upsetting her and putting him in her way.

"Water's ready," he informed her as he rolled passed the doorway back towards the living room, fully intent on just letting her handle it herself. Sighing as he found that he wasn't fully on board with that plan, he stopped halfway down the hall and spoke over his shoulder. "Let me know if you want me to do anything, okay? I'm not going to judge you for needing help any more than..."

Again, it wasn't about him. Choosing not to finish the sentiment, he quickly made his way out of her sight and laid his glasses on the coffee table in the front room. He was late for his morning drills anyway, and working on his own issues would help him keep his mind off of hers.

Teva set her clothes on the toilet seat lid, and undressed carefully, tossing her dirty clothes in a corner of the room. Parting the shower curtain, she tested the water temperature with her hand, and turned up the hot water just a little bit more so it would really scald. She felt absolutely disgusting, and for some reason in her head that equated to hotter-than-normal temperature water to destroy the dirt and oil and dried little bloody scratches and germs.

It didn't have any fucking thing to do with Red, other than the fact that she knew he was going to show up with his panties already in a bunch, and touching dirty stuff was just going to put him in an even worse mood. Since Red was her friend and also the guy she was trusting to heal her, it was in her best interest to just tough it out and take a shower. That was all!

She stepped under the spray, wincing when it hit her ribs, then adjusting the angle she stood at so it wouldn't hit the area directly. Washing her hair was an easy task, but the ribs hurt, and she had to go gentle and slow over the awful bruising, deep violet with an angry rose worked into it, edged with a bluish color, and puke green, and poison-gas-cloud yellow.

It was going alright until she started on her ass, and then her arms were stretched to their limits. Any more washing was going to require bending, and that realization just about made her cry. Teva leaned her head against the wall and thought of her comment so long ago to Bran after he'd stubbornly refused to ask for help out of the tub and fallen gracelessly across the bathroom floor. Her own voice mocked her. "So how's that pride taste going down?"

Snorting wryly, she finally opened her mouth and called loudly, "Bran? Some help? Please?"

Brandon had nabbed his crutches and migrated to the secondary bedroom/personal gym by that point, working with balancing himself on one crutch while blindly throwing light jabs and hooks with his free hand at Teva's practice dummy. It was the first time he'd attempted to practice his fighting skills again, and he found he couldn't quite get the right twist with his body to throw the punch properly, not while he was so off balance. The whole not being able to actually see the target was a little off-putting too. Still, it felt good to hit something, to let out some of his frustration at the world in a physical manner that was also productive to his recovery.

At Teva's call for help he didn't smirk or inwardly gloat, just picked up his other crutch and carefully made his way back to the bathroom.

"Go ahead, say it," she mumbled, all defense with a touch of humility.

He didn't, instead opting to pull the curtain to the side so he could set his crutches down and straddle the edge of the tub, not caring that his clothes and hand wraps were getting wet in the process. "What do you need me to do?" he asked quietly.

Teva hesitated, almost as if she were trying to determine whether there was a catch to his niceness and unwillingness to rub it in her face. He sat still as he waited for her to say or do something, and reached his hand up when he heard the sound of her body wash being squirted onto her loofa sponge.

"I can't get my legs," she admitted, to which Brandon nodded and took the sponge, using his other hand to slowly feel for the leg closest to him. She moved a little into his touch, after which he methodically worked the soap down to her ankle, mindful of the fact that there might be injuries he didn't know about.

"Can you pick up your foot?" he asked. "Lean on my shoulder if you have to."

She did exactly that, then turned herself the other way so he could get to her opposite leg. It didn't take long, but he was completely soaked by the time she handed him down the showerhead to get her thoroughly rinsed off. He didn't mind though, just stripped off the wet shirt and slung it over his shoulder as he used his crutches to push himself back to his feet.

"Need anything else?" he asked, not unkindly. "Can you get out of the tub okay?"

"Yeah, I got it. Thank you," she answered.

"You're welcome," he answered back with a smile, and turned to leave. He needed to change into dry shorts, go finish his workout, then take a shower of his own.

"Bran?" she called out, stopping him. "Make sure to change your wraps. Your knuckles will chafe if you keep those wet ones on."

"Okay," he acknowledged with another smile, and was out the door. It only took him a few minutes to get back on the padded dummy, his glasses back on so he could see what he was doing this round, and the whole time with his earbuds tuned into any sounds of distress coming from the bathroom. None came, and he was just trading off his crutch to practice with the other hand when he heard Teva's footsteps stop in the doorway.

"Do you want me to lower the speed bag so you can reach it from your chair?" she asked.

Brandon shook his head, keeping up with the awkward rhythm he'd adapted for himself to compensate for his odd stance. "Not today. Figured I'd get my basic swing down first before I tried to do anything too coordinated."

She walked into the room and chose to occupy his chair since he wasn't using it for the time being, putting her at an angle where she could watch him up close. "Can I make a few suggestions?" she asked.

"You're the master," he grinned, and waited for her to give him any assistance that she could. If he couldn't fight properly, she'd be the one to help him figure out how to manage it around his disabilities. Plus it gave them both something to focus on that wasn't her injury for the time being, something they both enjoyed and that would be of use to Brandon. It also put Teva back in a position of authority, something Brandon figured she kind of needed right then. _That_ made him inwardly gloat a little bit, the notion that he was still being helpful to her and she probably didn't even know it.

"If you can angle your crutch somewhat behind you and lean on it when you're throwing your punch, you should get that stable base that you're missing by having it in front. That should help improve your hit, give it a little more oomph," Teva stated from her position in the chair, and watched Brandon readjust. He tried the swing, but it wasn't quite right on the first time. "Bring your elbow in closer to your body so that the crutch is more in line with your leg." Brandon's next hit was better, more controlled and packing more force to it. He'd found his balance. She smiled to herself. "Good," Teva commented sedately, "You can feel how the crutch acts as a secondary support. Under normal circumstances, your body would shift its weight like this automatically so that you probably don't even notice it."

Brandon nodded his agreement as he said, "Thanks for the tips. That helps a lot." He went back to practicing his punches, and she went back to observing quietly, biting her tongue on all her other ideas.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore though, and she blurted out, "Have you ever used a heel strike before?"

"What?" he replied, turning to look at her curiously.

"What kind of martial arts training do you have?" Teva followed up with. "If I know a little more about your background, we can skip the pointless stuff and get straight to 'cool shit you should learn how to do'."

Brandon paused thoughtfully, thinking about how to word his response succinctly. It was hard to summarize such random skills into some sort of concise phrase. He'd never studied a particular martial art, not the way Teva had and did. "Mostly just boxing and whatever I picked up along the way. I'm more of a scrappy fighter than well trained," he finally answered.

Nodding slowly, Teva paused then lifted up her palm, curving the first and second joints of her fingers down so that it was one step away from a full fist. "If you use just the heel of your palm, you can actually, in some cases, cause more damage than a closed fist. This is a really popular move in Eastern martial arts and Krav Maga."

"You know Krav Maga?" Brandon asked quickly, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Teva lifted hers as well. "Doesn't everybody?"

Chuckling, Brandon shook his head at her, then said, "Okay, so explain to me how the heel strike works."

"Well, because all of your force is concentrated in a smaller area, you actually hit harder. For instance, if you slam upward into somebody's nose with a heel strike, you can actually send bone fragments sliding up into the brain, killing them instantly." She sounded so calm and peaceful as she explained it, and Brandon realized then that this was her therapy. All the classes in LA hadn't strictly been for 'keeping in shape,' as she'd explained, but rather because it was her way of dealing with stress. Her voice took on a certain rhythm as she went on to talk about optimal angles for striking, great places for inflicting maximum damage with minimal effort, and good combos to use. It was like the soothing beat of a metronome, rising and falling, and as she relaxed her accent came out a little more until she almost sounded like she was purring. Sexy, and yet utterly terrifying because it wasn't sex they were talking about, it was death.

It also occurred to Brandon as she spoke really for the first time how easy it would have been for her to kill him all those months ago in the Horizon file room before he even laid his hands on her. He'd never truly understood what she had said back in LA, that she'd made the decision to subdue him non-lethally, and that took more time than simply eliminating him. For her, it really would have been easier just to kill him right off the bat. Teva, listening to her as she unraveled her little store of knowledge about ways to kill with a single bare-handed strike, had chosen to keep him alive, even knowing that he was going to try to kill her. For the first time, the knowledge sank in just how lucky he'd been that she'd made a split-second decision to hold off on lethal methods of subduing. And it was a little scary, knowing how close to death he'd been and hadn't fully appreciated it until now.

Then there was that other side of him, the one that always wanted to play with fire, to push people's buttons to see how much he could get away with, and that part of him was intrigued. He kind of wondered what it would look like if Teva just let go on a 'run, how much destruction she could cause without rules or limitations or the risk of collateral damage. He kind of wanted to see her fight just once, really fight, not the sparring he'd witnessed (with his ears) at the gym, or the flicker of confrontation they'd experienced, but the kind of knock-down, drag-out brawling that resulted in some kind of permanent maiming. He thought it'd be fun to watch.

Brandon also made a mental note to himself that as soon as he was up to snuff, he was going to get Teva to spar with him. He had a feeling that would teach him a lot about how to be a more well-rounded fighter.

"Are you even listening?" Teva's voice broke into his thoughts.

Smiling charmingly, he replied, "Absolutely." Always a good multitasker, Brandon thought over the past few minutes saying, "You were telling me about elbow strikes, which is the primary reason why you're so fond of Muay Thai-because it's kickboxing on crack, and they add in the elbow and knee into the traditional fists and leg combos-and you are essentially what qualifies as a black belt."

Teva rolled her eyes as Brandon pretty much parroted her exact words back at her, but didn't complain. He'd been somewhere else for a little while though, deep in thought, that little frown line appearing between his eyebrows although he didn't actually frown. Brandon was very good at pulling a blank face or pretty much any expression he wanted. That was the problem, she thought, with dating a con artist. Sometimes it was hard for her to distinguish the truth from what Brandon projected was the truth. Subconsciously, she'd made a habit out of studying him, keeping track of all his little tells, the things that most people wouldn't notice.

She held her hands out to him and offered sweetly, "If you're done with exercising, I was going to head back to bed for a little nap. I'm still tired. You could come and keep me company. If you wanted, that is. I mean, I wouldn't try to tempt you into it by offering to make out with you again or anything."

Bran chuckled, and grabbed for his other crutch, and she stood carefully, letting him have his chair back. "I need a shower, then I'll come and keep you company, alright?"

"Naked?" Teva wondered with far too much innocence in her voice. She bit her lower lip, sealing in a devilish grin.

With a little twitch of his lips, Brandon agreed, "Naked."

It didn't matter to her that she'd still be dressed in yoga pants and a wife-beater, and that nothing more than a little kissing and petting was going to occur. There was still something undeniably intriguing about a good-looking man sliding in between the sheets all nude and fresh from the shower, his hair still wet, skin tasting clean maybe with that little hint of soapiness, and beaded in places where the water just hadn't dried or had rolled down his chest from his hair. She just wanted to put her hands all up on that. Then maybe her mouth.

"'kay," Teva chirped and headed for the bedroom.

Brandon was back to being in a good mood as he readied himself for the shower, choosing to use his little stool this time around after his long workout so he didn't risk falling. It wasn't like Teva could come in and help him up if he did. Thinking about her now put that little victory smile on his face again, how he'd hit on exactly the right thing to brighten up her craptastic day, something he could store in his head for the future if they were having a hard time. Teva plus the art of fighting equaled a happier Teva. Noted and filed right up in the front of his brain for quick reference.

Going with the caramel apple wash today, Brandon got himself cleaned up and just sat for a little bit with the warm water running over his shoulders and back. As much as he preferred to use the crutches now, the slight hunch they always forced him to move with put strain on muscles that weren't designed to work that way long term, and he worried that his posture was going to be perma-fucked once he finally moved past needing any walking assistance. Brandon the blind hunchback. That somehow seemed worse than Brandon the blind cripple.

Snorting at the ridiculousness of the thought, he sat up straight, stretching out his back and letting the water hit his face for a few minutes, then used the bar on the shower wall to pull himself back to his feet. The fact that it was specifically requested of him not to get dressed was a good thing, allowing him to just toss the towel onto his chair once he was done with it and skip the whole having to balance himself as he slipped into his pants ordeal. That was always a little difficult following a hard workout when his legs had that sort of rubbery, shaky feeling to them.

Sitting himself on the towel, he put his glasses back on his face and happily made his way back to bed where his girl was waiting for him, holding up the sheet so he could slide beneath it. That made him laugh as he followed the silent order and took his glasses right back off so they wouldn't get in the way. Despite her injuries, she was on him like a fox pouncing at a mole, her lips pressing against his in a way that took the breath from his lungs. One of her hands clenched in his wet hair in a way that was a little rough, but not unpleasant, and the make out session began in full.

If there was ever a time when Brandon had to practice strict self-control, it had been then. He was in a constant state of keeping himself in check-_don't put your hand there, you can't pull her towards you like that, don't roll forward, grab the pillow so you aren't tempted to grab something else_. It was actually hard work, something that making out with a girl hadn't been in a _long_ time, and it was both incredibly frustrating and kind of exhilarating at the same time. As a guy, particularly a fully naked one at the moment, it was a little more frustrating than exhilarating, but not unenjoyable.

What he _couldn't_ control was the little whimper that escaped him when it seemed she was done and pulled away. His brain understood that they couldn't go any further, but his body was whole different matter, and right then his body was crying for more attention.

"You want me to...?" Teva asked, and dammit, he could hear the smile in her voice.

"No," he shot down, and damn _his_ voice for still carrying that little whiney quality. Clearing his throat he tried again. "I'll be fine in a minute."

His minute sucked.

Teva slipped her head underneath Brandon's chin, and smiled a little to herself as their breathing evened out. Her arm curled over her boyfriend's waist, painting little patterns on his skin as her eyes slowly slipped closed. "Y'know you could..." she hesitated, because as open as they'd been with one another, this was one thing they hadn't really discussed. There was a shoebox in the back of her sock drawer as proof of that.

"Hm?" Brandon's hand slid up her forearm to cup her elbow.

"Well, you could...you have hands..." Teva stuttered and hesitated, and felt her cheeks begin to burn.

"Uh-huh," Bran agreed, his tone going up a little at the end in an invisible question mark.

"Jesus, are you really going to make me say this?" she huffed in exasperation.

Bran started chuckling, and replied, "I don't know, I'm kind of enjoying your squirming discomfort."

"Ass," Teva scolded with a hint of fondness in her voice, and pinched his waist underneath his ribs. Gathering her bravado, she stated with cool deliberation, "You could masturbate. I'm not one of those stupid women who thinks you stopped just because you started dating me."

That just made Brandon laugh even harder, squeezing out between peals, "Oh god...you're so funny...so, so funny...mastur...bate."

She slapped him and scolded, "Hey, I'm trying to nap here." But she was smiling as she said it.

Bran caressed her arm, and gradually got himself back under control. "Ah," he sighed, "I love you."

"For some reason," Teva began, her voice dry and sarcastic, "I think this statement has less to do with love and more with trying to smooth over any ire incurred by your laughter at my expense."

He grinned brightly and drawled, "Well..."

"Ass," she repeated, but kissed his neck. Then when he seemed to like it, Teva got one of her brilliant but evil ideas, and smothered a chuckle. "You know, I still get myself off," she mused, "So I guess the point is that if you wanted to get up and take care of yourself, I wouldn't be opposed. Maybe I could even watch. That'd be fun."

Her fingers began spiraling with a little more deliberate intent, meandering on their way to seeking out the sensitive areas on Brandon's chest and side, turning him on deliberately while trying to make it seem like that wasn't what she was doing.

Brandon's breath hitched momentarily, then evened out again. Time for step two.

"Can I make a confession?" she asked innocently.

"Okay," Bran agreed absently as she circled his navel with the smooth edge of a fingernail.

"You remember that letter I wrote you? The one where I was on the roof? It was kind of dirty," Teva mused aloud.

Snorting wryly, Bran answered dryly, "Oh, I remember."

Her voice dropped to a whisper as she said, "I touched myself as I was writing it, then after I came, I pressed my finger on the paper, still wet with my juices."

"Oh my god," Brandon laughed, then paused and asked, "Wait, are you serious?"

And she smiled, but stayed quiet.

Her boyfriend groaned like a man in pain and cursed out loud. "Dammit, Teva, I was just getting it back under control. You are an evil woman," Brandon accused.

Teva laughed uproariously, ignoring the pain because the moment was too funny not to let her amusement show. Yeah, she was a little evil.

She fell asleep ten minutes later still smiling smugly.

As Teva slipped off to sleep, Brandon thought it was moments like the one they'd just had that made her more devil than angel. He wouldn't tell her that though, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of once again trying to convince him that "angel" wasn't a good moniker for her. Honestly, the more she fought him on it the more he liked to use it, partially because he still thought of her as his guardian angel, and partially because he knew it pissed her off just a little sometimes.

In truth, he kind of missed it when she used to call him by a pet name. The morning having started off with her addressing him as "baby" made him stupidly happy, even though she had explained once that she considered the term to be a bit derogatory. He didn't really think so though, seeing it as a symbol of affection like most couples did. The fact that she only ever called him by name almost made it seem like there was a little bit of distance there-almost. He knew her better than that, but the outside observer might think it strange that she had no term of endearment for him, no title that tagged him as hers any more than the rest of the world had.

Brandon fell asleep going through the list of typical pet names, inwardly laughing at how off it would sound if something like "Squishy Bear" were to come out of Teva's mouth. He woke up what felt like only a short time later to her being gone, and after a moment of listening, figured out that she was in the kitchen. Sliding his glasses on, he was up and down the hall in less than a minute, reminding himself not to scold her for whatever she was doing...which was making lunch? Was she crazy?

"Teva," he started as calmly as he could, "why don't you sit down, and I'll finish that up, okay?"

She paused in her stirring what smelled like mac 'n cheese, and blinked at him for a minute before busting out laughing. "I'm sorry," she got out between giggles. "Do you realize you are standing butt naked in my kitchen?"

Brandon looked down at himself, bit his lip, then turned his best smile on her. "I'm not naked. I have my glasses on. Makes it sexier, right?"

"Actually, it does," she agreed as she reached into a drawer. "Here, if you stay just like that, but put this apron on, I will allow you to take over. Dinner should probably consist of more than just man 'n cheese, anyway, and I don't think I'm up to anything more complicated."

"Wait, dinner?" he asked as he ambled over, bending down so she could loop the apron over his head. "Is it that late?"

She made some sort of affirmative hum as she moved around behind him to tie the strings. "You were out cold. Usually that means you haven't been sleeping well."

Her tone held a question in it, and Brandon turned so he could lightly place his forehead against hers. "I was worried," he admitted softly. "Do me a favor? Next time, even if you're mad at me, drop me a text or something so I know you're still alive."

"I'll try to remember," she answered, and gave him a little kiss before heading off to the living room. That was probably the best he could hope for, considering she'd never really had to check in with someone before. She hadn't even kept regular contact with Madden back when she was in L.A. for all those weeks, and she'd known him a hell of a lot longer than she'd known Brandon. Worrying and sleepless nights that had nothing to do with flashbacks to his childhood were probably just something he was going to have to get used to. Sighing at that, he turned his attention back to dinner.

Wanting something fast and simple, he wound up zapping some fakey chicken to thaw it out before cutting it into strips, coating those with a simple egg, parmesan, and bread crumb mixture, and pan frying them. By the time he was done the mac 'n cheese was still warm, so he dished up a plate and carefully brought it out to Teva using just the one crutch again as he'd left his chair in the bedroom.

"Your dinner, m'lady," he announced in English butlery fashion as he handed her the plate. "Would there be anything else? Perhaps a drink?"

She chuckled at him. "Oh my god, I'm so getting you one of those white collared bowties and matching wrist cuffs. You can walk around being my naked butler all day long."

"_That_ is not happening," he assured her, turning to go back to the kitchen for the drink she didn't actually ask for, but he was serving her anyway. "At least not every day. I might be able to swing weekends."

He winked at her, forgetting that she couldn't actually see it behind his glasses, but the loving smile she sent his way was all that mattered. After a couple trips back and forth he was able to join her on the couch, still covered only by the apron, and wound up cursing an hour later when Red buzzed Teva's comm to let her know he was there. She thought it was funny as fuck as Brandon tried to rush to the bedroom to get his naked ass out of sight.

"Shut up, it's not funny!" he hollered at her, though his own laughter came out as he said it. She was at least nice enough to let him get down the hall before she let Red in.

* * *

**TBC…**


	7. Chapter 7

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 7

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Warnings: a couple-fight

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

As soon as Brandon's naked ass disappeared into the bedroom, Teva pulled open the door and smiled at Red. "Do I want to know how you keep getting past the locked lobby?"

His answering grin was wan, holding only a hint of its normal sass. "Probably not."

Stepping aside, Teva let Red into the apartment, then shut the door and turned to face him. He was looking around curiously, then murmured wonderingly, "You managed to keep them alive."

"The plants?" Teva asked for clarification.

Red nodded succinctly, then turned to her. "So where would you like to do this?"

"First," she extended an eloquent index finger up in the air, "A word. Bran wasn't too specific about what you said to him on the phone, but I gathered it was pretty bitchy. Now, it's okay to take a tone with me, because I'm used to you taking a tone with me and I know not to take it too seriously. Brandon is different, and I don't appreciate you acting like a dick to him for no reason."

Sighing, Red shifted his stance, and rubbed at the sinus cavity above his right eyebrow. He glanced down at her finally, and it was for the first time that she noticed how tired he seemed. His suit actually had wrinkles in it from sitting too long, and that was strange because normally Red was meticulous about his clothing, impeccably dressed and immaculately pressed despite the fact that the fabrics would have yielded on any lesser being to humidity and wrinkling. "I know, I was actually hoping to see him to express my apologies. I was attending to some personal business and my mood wasn't quite as in check as it should have been." He glanced around again, then raised a brow in query.

"He's here," Teva answered, pleased that Red had decided to own up to his own impoliteness; that he, at least, appeared to be suffering no ill effects from their brief jaunt between the sheets those months ago, unlike Brandon, who was clearly jealous of her relationship with Red, and that was without even knowing about their intimate encounter; another reason to keep the whole thing a secret. "Should be out any minute."

Nodding, Red waved over to the sofa then. "Why don't we have a seat and I'll heal you? No reason for you to convalesce longer than need be."

"Sure," she agreed, and sat carefully, Red perching on the cushion next to her with his usual smooth movement.

"The ribs are the worst of it, I presume?" he wanted to know. A nod on her part was all that was needed before Red gently laid his hands over her midriff. The silken slide of his magic within her was so familiar. For a split-second it took her back to a time when she desired him and desired to stop desiring him; it took her back to one night of fulfillment, his lips firm and demanding, yet sensuous, and the feel of his hands, so smooth, gliding over her sweat-soaked skin. Then it was replaced by the sense memory of Brandon's calloused hands, and his gentle touches, and the kisses, god, the perfect kisses, and she was back, back in the present and watching Red pull away from her, noting immediately how much better she felt.

"Red," she grabbed his hand quickly, "I know our relationship has been tumultuous at best, but I want you to know that I am your friend, and if you need help or you just need somebody to talk to, well, I'm not the best listener, but I'll give it a shot." Her expression was earnest as she looked directly into those exotically slanted chocolate colored eyes, and much to her surprise, she saw them crinkle up into a smile.

"Thank you, Teva," he replied, and laid his free hand over hers, "And I do appreciate that, but I don't think this is something I could share. It's...too personal." After a moment's pause where Red kept his hand over hers, he cleared his throat and withdrew. Turning his head slightly, he grinned warmly as Brandon came down the hall dressed in a pair of threadbare jeans and a t-shirt that might have been hers or might have been his. He looked good, comfortable and at home, not like he was putting on a show, which was how Red always looked to her.

Teva hurriedly took her hand away as well, not wanting to incite another Red-related jealousy explosion. "Hey," she sprang up, and did a little twirl. "Good as new."

"Oh, thank god," Brandon groaned in exaggeration. "She was making me nuts, Red. You have no idea."

The other man grinned and stood as well, bowing slightly. "My sincerest apologies for how I behaved when you called this morning. You caught me in the middle of a tense moment."

Shaking his head slightly, Bran stepped into the living room and took a seat in the armchair that Madden usually occupied when he came over for soap opera day. "Don't even worry about it," he excused Red's behavior. "I heard voices in the background. It sounded pretty heated."

Red's grin turned thin lipped, and he shrugged with false nonchalance. "I'm glad you weren't offended."

Teva slipped over by Brandon and took a seat on the arm of the chair while Red sat back down on the sofa.

For awhile they all talked like mature adults, then Teva suggested, "Hey, it's been awhile since we've hung out together. What do you say we do a movie night? I heard there's a pretty good download of an old black and white of _The Taming of the Shrew_. Hell, we could make it a double feature and do _The Count of Monte Cristo_ too. Get Madden over here, it'll be a party."

With a surreptitious glance at Brandon, Red cautiously nodded. "I'll have to check my schedule, but I would be amenable to that."

"Bring delicious snacks," Teva ordered with a firm nod of her head, to which Brandon huffed a laugh.

"I don't know how you're going to get Madden over here for classic films though," Red hedged.

"Uh, Madden will come watch old movies if I ask him to," Teva drawled as she rolled her eyes. "Do you not know that he adores me? How do you people not know this? He took care of my plants for a really long time according to a highly neurotic feeding and watering guide. Now that's a trooper."

Both men laughed in response, and Brandon curved a proprietary hand over her knee as he replied, "That sounds like fun. We'll just have to work around everybody's schedule."

"Yeah, yeah," Teva waved a hand dismissively. "So it's settled then, we're doing a movie night."

A few minutes later, Red made his excuses and said he had to go. Everybody was cordial as he left. All in all, the whole thing hadn't gone nearly as bad as she thought it would.

"We should go get dessert," Brandon suggested just as Teva shut the door after seeing Red off.

She responded with an exasperated, "How do you still have any teeth in your head, seriously? Your blood sugar levels must be higher than the roof of the Empire State Building."

"Maybe I just have really _low_ blood sugar, and this is my way of making up for it," he replied smoothly. By the look on her face she so wasn't buying that. Of course she wasn't; anything unusual in his blood work would've shown up in the massive amounts of testing he'd undergone back in the clinic. As far as his teeth went he was just one of those lucky bastards that everyone hated who could eat as much crap as he wanted and rarely ever got a cavity, nor did he put on much weight. The way he saw it, if he was gifted with naturally strong enamel and a fast metabolism, he may as well take advantage of it.

"_Please?_" he tried again, going with a simpler tactic. "We've been stuck inside all day, and since I slept for half of it I'm not going to be tired for a while, and it's a nice night for a walk anyway."

Teva glanced at the window, then back at him. "How do you know? Like you said, we haven't been outside."

He shot her a smug grin. "Because I pay attention. It's not raining, it doesn't sound windy, and even I could see how bright the sun was coming through the blinds today. That means it's a nice night. Plus, I hate to think I got fully dressed just to talk with Red. Don't make me waste a whole change of clothes on that."

"Hmm, point," she relented, "but only because I noticed you did the laundry."

She _had_ noticed. He felt the proud little smile creeping onto his face about that.

"And cleaned the apartment," she continued as she crossed the room back to his chair, and crawled onto his lap to lace her arms over his shoulders. "_And_ spent the entire day taking care of me. I'd say that probably earned you a frozen yogurt."

"Okay," he grinned. He didn't care if it was a healthier dessert. It still pretty much tasted like ice cream, plus he could have the counter server top it off with sprinkles and cocoa balls if he wanted to. Ready to go for it, he adjusted slightly as if to attempt to stand up, but Teva stayed exactly where she was.

"You do realize you've just given yourself away, right?" she asked.

The comment confused him. Given himself away about what? Had he somehow projected his thoughts of sprinkles and cocoa balls to her? Nah, that wouldn't matter. She knew damn well he was going to load that yogurt up. He always did.

"You want to be a little more specific?" he asked in return.

She placed one of her hands on the top of his head. "Brandon. You have officially become fully handi-capable. That means I expect you to pull your weight around here a little more. If you don't, I might have to get rid of your cookie stash."

Brandon groaned, wondering how she'd managed to find it. He didn't think she ever reached that far into the linen closet. That just meant he'd have to find a better hiding place...or maybe-

"B, I swear to god if you start cutting your little cubby holes into my walls or cabinets you'll never see another granule of sugar again," she threatened, leaving him stunned.

That brought a keen sense of satisfaction to Teva. She'd seen that almost imperceptible tweak of his right eyebrow just at the corner, the signal that he was having one of his "genius" spur of the moment thoughts. It occurred to her briefly that it might be to his benefit to let him know he did have the occasional tell, but she dropped the thought almost as soon as she had it. He'd been doing just fine conning his way through his jobs for years without anyone picking up on his miniscule habits; if she let him know the little ways in which he was projecting his thoughts, the only one who would suffer for it would be her.

"Fine, no holes in the cabinets or walls," he promised, this time paying as close attention to his tone and expression as he would when on a job, and waited patiently for her to get off him. She hadn't mentioned anything about the floors or ceiling though, something he might have to look into the next time she was on a run. He and Nate had been designing invisible pockets since they were kids. How else were they supposed to hide shit from Lonnie that they weren't supposed to have? Those cubby holes were a built-in part of his whole lifestyle.

That was a whole different issue for a whole different day though. Right now he just wanted a walk and some frozen yogurt, do a little unwinding with Teva now that she had been healed, and come back to a relaxing evening. Then maybe they could get back to living as normally and as happily as possible, doing things like having movie nights with their friends, watching films that he was familiar with because he'd read the books so no one would have to tell him what was going on. Everything would be great right up to his next treatment, and even that wouldn't be so bad this time around. The day he'd be getting out would be his birthday, after all, one of his favorite days of the year, and this time he'd get to spend it with Teva. Checking out of the clinic, getting one of her amazing massages, passing out for a while, maybe waking up to a little birthday cake and, if he was lucky, his pottery wheel. Yeah, that would pretty much be perfect.

FroYo was uneventful. Teva put on real pants, and a jacket, and maybe only one knife-hey, that was downright conservative for her-and they walked to the nearest strip mall where there was a special on the medium sized frozen yogurt cup. She got limoncello flavored, which Brandon made a face at, to which she rolled her eyes. He ordered chocolate with crumbled candy bar mixed in it and hot fudge on top, which she made a face at when he offered her a bite. "I don't know how," she joked, "but you've managed to turn frozen yogurt into something completely unhealthy."

A week went by where they finalized plans with Red and Madden for a movie night. As they were due to arrive, Teva caught Brandon speculatively eyeing the ceiling, and his eyebrow twitched. She hissed, "B, I hope you understand that when I said 'walls and cupboards,' I meant the entire apartment. I'm moving out of here someday, and I'm not paying thousands of nuyen in damages. There will be _no cubbys_." Brandon just looked at her, apparently astonished by her ability to read his mind.

"You can keep your cookies stashed in the linen closet. You may have noticed that even though I know where they are, I haven't touched them. Of course, if you're really that adamant about me not eating certain things you buy, you could just grab a marker and put your name on it," Teva continued thoughtfully, "I don't mind. I have certain things stashed high up where you can't reach them at the moment."

"Things?" Brandon parroted back at her while she went to buzz up Red and Madden.

"Things not for you, Sweet-tooth," Teva warned. "I don't eat your stash foods, and yes, I know about the chocolate biscuits in your underwear drawer too. Who do you think was putting away your laundry all those weeks? Anyway, I don't touch yours, so I expect the same courtesy. You wouldn't even like them anyway. They're healthy-ish."

"So why are you hiding them?" Brandon responded slyly. Oh, he knew what was going on there. Classic misdirection. One day he was going to have to hunt down Teva's stashes.

The movies were fun, and listening to Red and Teva bicker about everything from the amount of butter on the popcorn to who the better writer was, Alexander Dumas or William Shakespeare, was entertaining for both Brandon and Madden. They took bets, paid in movie candy, which Madden had brought, apparently more of a fan of the candy counter at the theater over the popcorn, over who would win each debate. The split ended up being pretty even, so both Madden and Bran had a nice sized stash of a variety of candies. Teva rolled her eyes and stole the Sour Patch Kids for herself.

As the next days passed, Brandon relied a little more on his crutches each day, and even started doing more balance exercises without them. Supervised, of course, by Teva, just in case something happened and he needed her help.

She also began noticing how Bran seemed to be rolling his shoulders a lot more in discomfort, and began giving him back rubs almost every night to help ease the tension built up over the course of the day, and if he was having a particularly bad day, twice or even three times. Teva was counting the days until he could stop using those stupid arm crutches and maybe settle on a cane. That'd be kind of pimp.

They also came up with a chore list for each of them based on what Brandon could and could not accomplish at that point in time. "To be revisited at a later date," Teva clarified, much to Brandon's disappointment.

Then they were back to Treatment Day, followed swiftly by Seizure Day, which for Teva meant No Sleep Days. She'd taken up station by Brandon's bed, hardening her heart at the sight of his uncontrollable spasms because otherwise it would break at witnessing his suffering.

It never got easier. It never became routine.

The day he didn't need these treatments anymore, she was throwing a fucking party, regardless of whether that meant he got his sight back or was blind for the rest of his days.

Jill had come in while Teva was sleeping, and Brandon tweaked his lips up into a tired smile at the sound of her footsteps. He was going to be sad when the day came that she bought new sneakers, and that tiny little rush of air no longer escaped from the hole in the bottom of the left one. Other than that, there was nothing particularly special in the way she moved that would help him identify her from anyone else. For the time being though, he continued to let her be slightly amazed that he always knew when she was coming.

"Hi, doc," he whispered, pressing a finger to his lips and nodding in Teva's direction.

"Good morning, Brandon. How are you feeling?" she asked kindly, keeping her voice low.

He snorted. "Like shit. Wait, is that not normal? Oh god, I'm dying, aren't I?"

The joke didn't quite have the same impact when his words continued to just come out weak and lethargic as opposed to the frantic tone he normally would've gone for, but Jill chuckled at him anyway as she patted his arm.

"I know, it sucks," she sympathized. "But look on the bright side-you've only got three of these treatments left, and you get to go home to enjoy the rest of your birthday in peace. Yes, I remembered the date on your file. Happy birthday."

Brandon smiled broadly at both her statements. It was his first official happy birthday of the day, and knowing he was now halfway through the monthly treatments was definitely a perk. Three more to go, and then...

"What happens after the last treatment?" he asked, excited about it, but also insanely nervous. "I mean, how long before we know whether they even worked or not?"

Teva stirred then, coming around in time to hear Jill's answer. It was something they'd talked about before, multiple times, actually. Brandon had asked the same question of Peters when he got bumped to the bi-weekly treatments, then again when he moved to monthly, and _again_ just a couple weeks ago when he was doing his follow-up tests with Dr. Jillian. He just kept phrasing it differently enough where it didn't quite sound like he was repeating himself.

"We don't know, Brandon," Jill explained patiently. "Not in the way that you're referring to, anyway. I can tell you that the treatments _have_ been working to improve your sight, which you already know, but you're not going to open your eyes after that last one and miraculously see again. It doesn't work that way. As long as you keep up with your exercises you'll continue to work the new areas of cell growth, and coax the damaged areas into accepting more activity. Improvement is going to be a very gradual process, just like it has been, which will cease at some point whenever your neurons are running at their maximum capacity. Whether that will happen with the full return of your sight or just a small portion of it depends on nature, science, and a lot of luck. If you have someone you pray to, that probably wouldn't hurt either."

As per usual, it wasn't quite the answer Brandon wanted to hear, but he smiled thankfully at the doctor anyway. It wasn't a day to be down about any of that, not when he would be going home any time now to begin his birthday celebration. It'd be just like the days when it was just him and Nate, a private, meaningful time when they gifted one another for making it through another year, grateful that the other was alive to help them through it. Sure, those had eventually evolved into huge drunken bashes-any excuse to throw a party, right?-but Brandon didn't mind at all just going back to simpler times. It seemed fitting, considering he was alive this year solely because Teva had helped him through it.

In his typical drained fashion, Brandon let Teva solidify the appointment for his testing, and passed out almost the moment he was in the car. It came as no surprise to him that there wasn't a birthday gathering waiting to spring at him like a trap the second they came through the apartment door -Teva knew he didn't like company when he was so weak, and there would've been no point in decorating with balloons and banners when he rarely bothered with his glasses on post-Seizure Day. They weren't needed when he spent more time asleep than he did awake.

When Teva got him into the bed and set to work on undoing the kinks and pains in his abused body, he didn't find it odd that she hadn't yet wished him a happy birthday. She was probably just saving it for later when he was more alive to enjoy it. He fell asleep under her gentle ministrations before he could put too much thought into it.

He woke up however many hours later to the smell of something distinctly meaty cooking in the kitchen, and heavily transferred himself into his chair to go see what Teva was cooking him for birthday dinner.

"That smells really good," he complimented as he came in.

"Eh, don't get too excited," she shrugged. "I just kind of threw together a stew with what we had laying around. Kinda thrifty though, right?"

"Oh," he said, sounding a little disappointed.

That made her stop and turn to look at him. "I said not to get too excited, not sound like I'm about to serve you dishwater. I'm sorry, but your treatments aren't exactly easy for me either. I'm too tired for anything fancy."

"Right, sorry, you're right," he quickly corrected. "I'm sure it'll be great."

It actually wasn't that bad at all, and he decided to shrug off the whole not having a special dinner thing. It wasn't that big of a deal, and she probably really didn't have the chance or energy to make him anything big anyway. There'd still be cake, the most important part, and that was something she didn't have to make. A quick trip to the bakery while he'd been sleeping would've been all she needed to do. And then there'd be his gifts, or just one. He'd be fine with only one. Even if she couldn't find him a pottery wheel, he was sure he'd be happy with whatever it was. She knew what he liked.

But after shooting several glances her way well after they were through with dinner and just sitting around watching the trid, he began to wonder if maybe he wasn't getting his cake after all. Trying not to be let down, he cleared his throat during a commercial break and casually asked Teva if there would be any dessert. She asked him if he wanted her to get him his cookies.

"No, never mind," he answered quietly, and turned his attention back to the show.

Whatever little spark of hope he'd had left slowly dwindled as it got closer to bed time. She had forgotten. It was the day that marked yet another year when he'd beaten the odds, starting a new one in which he'd hopefully continue to do so. Birthdays were important to him, had been important to Nate before he'd died too, and Teva had forgotten.

"I'm, uh, I'm going to turn in a little early, alright?" he informed her softly, a sort of emptiness in his tone mirroring that hole that would've been filled by two dozen people in L.A. that weren't even really his friends, and _should've_ been filled by the one person he cared about the most. It was fine though, he'd get over it. It was just a stupid birthday. It was probably about time he joined the ranks of all the other adults who didn't give a fuck anyway.

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that,_ he thought as he rolled himself up onto the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. Inside he felt that little empty hole of disappointment spread and grow into something larger, and the sudden rush of homesickness hit him hard enough to physically react to. Curling tightly onto his side, he buried his face into the pillow he was hugging tightly, and just focused on counting his own breaths.

He was well over one hundred before he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Brandon had been acting weird for awhile, at least since they had gotten back from the clinic. At first Teva had just thought it was a byproduct of seizure day, maybe some homesickness setting in, or realizing how close he was to the conclusion of his treatments. She left it alone because if he wanted to be in a mood, that was perfectly acceptable. Spirits knew that she had her own moods and when she was in one, she didn't want to be dissuaded out of it. That just made her stubbornly cling to it even more like a life raft in some rushing river rapids. However, two days had gone by, and it hadn't gotten any better. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse.

What was the worst of all this was that it seemed to be directed at her. Brandon was alternating between snapping at her and giving her a sullen silent treatment, and Teva had no idea what she did wrong.

Finally, at their third supper after Bran had gotten out of clinic, one where Teva had done pretty well whipping up some chicken a la king from last night's leftover rotisserie chicken and served it on toast points because that was how you were supposed to eat chicken a la king, with a side of French style green bean almondine, Brandon took it a little too far.

He glanced down at his plate, seemingly entirely disinterested, and then curled his lip up. "I don't want this," Brandon whined, and looked for all the world like a stubborn, mulish child.

Teva was about to put down their drinks, soymilk for the both of them, when the statement came out, and she slammed the glasses onto the counter, inadvertently sloshing soymilk all over. "Then don't eat it!" she snapped. "Make yourself something else. I'm not your fucking mama."

"Thank god for that," Brandon huffed under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked coldly, and when he turned his head away instead of answering her she walked around the counter and twisted him around on the stool so he had to look at her. "Brandon. What does that mean?"

"It means," he answered darkly, leaning in closer to her face, "that _you_ would be one of those moms who made her kids wish their nannies would adopt them."

Staring at Teva now, with them being so close together he could practically feel the anger rising off her skin, he waited for her to make a move. For a few seconds he thought she might actually strike him, but instead she backed away and tossed her hands in the air, not backing down from the challenge but most likely keeping herself from breaking his face.

"You aren't making any fucking sense!" she growled loudly. "What is your problem?"

"My _problem_," he sneered, pushing himself to his feet, "is that as good as you think you are at reading me, you don't know _anything_ about what I think is important, and you don't even care. You read the journals, Teva, you read all of them. You should _know_. You should..."

Losing his steam, he clamped up again and shook his head. She didn't understand, _wouldn't_ understand, and that pissed him off enough to know that if they kept going down this road he was going to say something else he'd regret.

"Should what?!" Teva screamed. She ran her hands through her hair, but her fingers curled into fists at the ends and tugged hard because if she didn't get this out in some way it wasn't going to be pretty. "You have been acting like a fucking dick to me for days, and I think I've been pretty patient waiting for your PMS to blow over! Just what the fuck did I do to you to piss you off so much?!" she screeched, then threw her arms wide. "Because I don't fucking know! I have been wracking my brain for what I could have said or done that would deserve this level of punishment, and I can't come up with an answer."

What Brandon remained stubbornly silent, she sneered. "Come on! Throw me a bone here!" Turning around, Teva paced a tight circle in the empty dining room, ending up facing Brandon again, who looked furious but wasn't saying a word. "Fine!" Teva snapped, "Don't fucking say anything like a little fucking bitch."

She stomped down the hallway to the bedroom, angrily ripping apart the neatly made bed to get one of the pillows, then spun on her heel to head back to the living room, making a quick detour at the closet to grab one of the folded blankets. Teva tossed them on the couch from about five feet away, watching the blanket start to unfurl in the air before it collapsed bonelessly on the sofa. "My appetite's turned. I'm going to bed," she stated coolly as she turned back around. "Don't bother coming."

Teva slammed the door because it made her feel better, and twisted the lock viciously into place. Not that it would stop Bran if he really wanted to get into the room, but it was the thought that counted, the symbolism behind it. She was shutting him out because she was done with his fucking attitude, putting doors and locks and emotional walls between them.

That fucking asshole. How dare he attack her ability to be a mom? Not that she had kids or actively desired them, but there had always secretly been that "maybe someday" in the back of her mind, and now her nonexistent children wanted to be adopted by a fictitious nanny? And what the hell was up with two fucking days of being pissed off at her, and not even bothering to say so? Like some fucking stupid bitch wife, he expected her to just figure it out on her own, and she'd been trying but she didn't know what she did!

She was standing there in the middle of the room, her chest heaving, breath coming in quick pants. There were tears and they wanted to come out; there was no way to stop them, and these weren't going to be the nice quiet ones. In a panic, she yanked a pillow off the bed and slid one of the closet doors along the track. With one foot, Teva kicked everything on the floor over, not caring about Brandon's meticulous organization, and slid into the vacant spot on the floor, closing the door behind her.

For some reason, the only place she'd ever really felt safe to cry in was the closet. It was dark and isolated, insulated by clothing, and nobody ever bothered her in there. Her legs curled up in the fetal position, and she put the pillow over her thighs almost with a sense of ceremony, then she pushed her face in it and sobbed.

* * *

Brandon actually winced when he heard the door lock click into place, the sound of it loud as it filtered through his earbuds. It just made him angrier, knowing she was all bent out of shape at him over something that _she_ should've remembered. He'd written about his birthdays in his journals, and she'd read about them, soaked in those rare pages of happiness hidden amongst all the blood and tears and pain. How could she not know how important this was to him? He'd _told_ her, had specifically brought it up on one of their good outings at his pottery class. She was supposed to have made note of that, of his purposeful mention of the date, of the gift he'd casually asked for that he wanted but didn't necessarily expect. Just "happy birthday, Brandon;" that's all he _really_ wanted, an acknowledgement from the person he loved that she was happy he was alive.

He had every right to be fucking angry.

Or did he? As he picked up on the faint sound of Teva crying, _really_ crying, he couldn't help but think about why he hadn't just told her to begin with. Admittedly, he hadn't said anything not just because he was hurt, or trying to make her guess at his moodiness. He didn't tell her because he was scared, which was where the actual moodiness was coming from. He was scared that she'd blow him off, tell him to grow up, quit whining just because she missed one little birthday. If not that then she'd feel guilty, and then she'd be mad that he _made_ her feel guilty—_again_-and they'd _still_ be fighting. He was angry at her for not only forgetting, but for the fact that he felt like he couldn't tell her how much it upset him without him sounding like a spoiled little kid to her. He _hadn't_ been a spoiled little kid though, not ever, which was why that one day of the year when he could find something to be happy about mattered so much.

It didn't seem to matter so much now though, not when he'd made Teva cry so forcefully. Teva _never_ cried, not like this, not with so much pain. Knowing that he was the one that did it to her, reduced her to sobbing by herself in a locked bedroom, it killed him more than her forgetting his stupid birthday had.

The door lock might as well have not existed at all, breaking into buildings being one of Brandon's specialties. He broke through that barrier like it was nothing more than a wall of toy blocks built by a child, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to tear through the second barrier, the more personal one. The closet door was the only thing keeping him from holding her, from grabbing her up and kissing her on the head, telling her that he was sorry. It wasn't what she would want from him right now, for him to invade her private moment, to see her cry.

Instead, he just lowered himself to the floor and lightly pressed his fingers to the door, followed by his forehead. "I didn't tell you," he started, and waited for a minute for the sounds of her crying to calm down some. "I didn't tell you because I thought you'd say it was a stupid thing to be mad at...and you would've been right. I was trying, _hoping_, I guess, that I'd just get over it, because it didn't..." He laughed bitterly at himself. "It didn't seem like it was something worth starting a fight over. Guess I fucked that one up, huh? Now you're even more upset than you would've been if I'd just told you in the first place."

He paused, listening for a second to her slight sniffles as she quietly got herself under control. She wasn't talking, wasn't really crying anymore either, so he hoped that meant she was actually listening.

"I'm so sorry, angel. I'm sorry about what I said, I didn't mean it, and I'm sorry I always get so worked up about the _dumbest _shit-"

"Brandon," she interrupted, her voice husky and quiet. "Just tell me what I did."

The fear came back, even worse now that he'd escalated things to this point. He didn't want to tell her, to admit he had been throwing a tantrum for days over something so petty, but now he felt like he owed it to her. There was no way he could say it without him sounding immature and selfish, so he sucked in a breath and spat it out as straightforward as possible.

"You forgot my birthday," he confessed almost at a whisper, and closed his eyes as he waited for her response, knowing that however bad it would be he deserved it.

'His birthday?' she mouthed silently in confusion. Teva searched her memory for some kind of date, but in the end all she could come up with was a vague mention a couple months ago in LA of wanting a pottery wheel for his birthday.

Biting her lip, she wrestled with a tempest of emotions swirling within her. Lingering sadness, guilt, anger, hysteria; it all coalesced into a blustery summer storm that she tried to keep a lid on. "You're mad," Teva hesitated, "because I forgot a date that I didn't even know?" She kept her voice carefully measured because otherwise it was going to come out high and loud and half-cracked.

"What do you mean you don't know when my birthday is?" Brandon asked on the other side of the door, and she could hear the thread of anger working its way back through it.

"I don't know when your birthday is," Teva repeated, her voice stronger in the darkness.

"How can you not know?" Bran blurted out, "It's in the journals! You read all the journals!"

"Yeah, but..." she swallowed, her throat harsh from crying, "I didn't pay attention to all the specific dates. I mean, I was kind of binge reading them, and on most of the entries I skipped over reading the dates."

"On my birthday?" Brandon repeated incredulously. "You skipped over reading the dates on the entries about my birthday?"

"Yes," Teva replied matter-of-factly, perhaps with a bit of waspishness creeping in alongside it. She hugged the pillow closer in the darkness, and sank into herself a little more as the clothes hanging overhead brushed her head and neck.

"And it never occurred to you to ask?" her boyfriend's voice penetrated the closet door. He sounded positively bewildered by this, and Teva had to stifle a dark little chuckle.

"No," she scoffed, "Have you met me? I haven't celebrated a birthday in ten years. I don't think anybody even knows when it is. It's not something that would just _occur_ to me to ask about. I guess I assumed that if you wanted to celebrate your birthday, you'd tell me 'hey, so my birthday is on blah-day next month; let's make some plans.'"

_Ten years?_ Brandon marveled. Teva hadn't had anyone show appreciation for her being born, being alive, in _ten years?_ The little bit of anger that had been growing again fizzled out, replaced with only a heavy sadness for what she didn't even know she was missing. That feeling soon mixed with a sudden dread that came creeping upon him like a storm rolling in off the ocean as he thought about her last statement, that if he'd wanted a birthday celebration he should've just said so.

"Teva?" he asked, swallowing past the lump that was threatening to block his airway. "When is _your_ birthday?"

"The end of May," she answered after a brief hesitation.

May...that was when he'd been...

The knowledge stung him with more burn than a scorpion's tail. Here he was going on about what a big deal it was that she'd forgotten his special day, and he'd missed hers too. He'd just assumed that, like him, she would just bring it up as time drew nearer. It never occurred to him that it had already come and gone right under his nose, even if he hadn't been capable of celebrating with her at the time. The taste of the bitter hypocrisy it left on his tongue was almost enough to make him laugh and vomit simultaneously.

Not really sure how to handle this new bit of information, he turned around and sat back against the door, letting his head thunk against it as he again turned his attention to the ceiling.

"Wednesday," he finally settled on. "My birthday was on Wednesday."

For a moment Teva buried her face back in the pillow and took deep breaths of hot, salt-smelling air. Wednesday. October twelfth. Well, she'd certainly remember it from here on out. No wonder he'd been so disappointed by her simple little stew for dinner.

Normal people celebrated birthdays.

Normal people cared when their loved ones were born.

It was something she was going to have to get used to again. Another thing she'd have to get used to.

After Tamsin disappeared, Teva stopped celebrating her birthday because the day was just a reminder of her missing half, not just for her but for her mother as well. At fifteen, she'd idly declared a month before the date, "I don't want a cake or a party or anything."

Nathalia had looked up from her breakfast, soycaf and a muffin, as always, stopped pinning her long chestnut waves up, and said to her, "Alright, if you're sure that's what you want."

"I don't want to remember," Teva had answered, and her mother's face had closed up tightly with an echoing pain.

On her birthday, Nathalia slid a homemade card under her door with some cash in it, but otherwise they never said the words. They didn't do anything differently for supper. No one came over.

The next year, she'd left town, and her birthday came and went in Atlanta, Georgia unnoticed. Then her mother died, and she truly was alone with no one to celebrate with even if she'd wanted to. The next time it occurred to her, she was twenty and had a few party friends in New Orleans, but the date still made her unreasonably melancholy. No reason to inflict that on herself. So she just got in the habit of letting her birthday fly past without acknowledgement, but that wasn't what normal people did, so she needed to recalculate that.

Lifting her head up slightly, she called through the door, "Sorry I missed your birthday."

Brandon answered quietly, "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Teva replied morosely. After a beat, she added, "We could do something tomorrow. I know it's not the same as celebrating on your actual day of birth, but it's better than nothing."

"We don't have to," Bran tried to assure her, but she wasn't buying into that. Clearly, his birthday was important to him, and if she let this one pass like this, then it was going to become one of those secret relationship resentments.

"We do," she argued, "Now get out of here so I can come out with a little bit of dignity intact, and the next time I'm crying, please heed the locked door and stay out."

Teva heard Brandon snort on the other side of the door, almost but not quite a laugh, and he sighed, "If that's really what you want."

"It is," she stated, and waited until she heard him struggle to his feet, then painstakingly exit the room. Once Teva figured that the coast was clear, she rolled the door back open along the track, her palm on the fake wood because there weren't any handles on the inside of the doors, and crawled back out with the pillow. She straightened herself up, pulling her t-shirt back down into place and smoothing her hair. Tossing the pillow back onto the bed, Teva turned and eyed the messed up closet floor, then shut the door. This was why she'd never stored things in the bottom of the closet before. It was her safe space.

Quietly, Teva headed for the bathroom and splashed cool water on her face until the awful burn behind her eyes went away, as did the redness in her face. She wasn't a pretty crier, not like some women. She was too pale, and all the exertion made her face flame. Her eyes swelled up, and her nose got stuffy and then ran like a leaky faucet. Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, Teva blew her nose into the squares a few times, then tossed it away. There were practical reasons for having learned to be a silent crier. With less force behind it, there were less visible symptoms afterward.

She sat on the toilet seat lid and flicked on the fan. Fishing her cigarettes out of the pocket on her t-shirt-she was fairly certain this one was Bran's-Teva flipped open the top, and slid her lighter into her hand, deftly plucking one filtered end out before they all came spilling into her hands and closing them back up.

Lighting up, Teva inhaled and found composure, then exhaled the emotional turmoil. She continued like that, ashing in the bathroom sink until the tobacco was gone, and then stood up to discard the filter in the toilet bowl. She flushed, and ran the faucet, scooping up water in her hand and dumping it around the basin to make sure all the ash was rinsed away. Finally, she felt a little more ready to look at Brandon again. Stepping out, she found him in the kitchen, quietly cleaning up the remnants of what would have been a very good dinner. Wordlessly, she began to help.

As she was sliding the green beans into the fridge, he asked, "So am I still relegated to the couch for the night?"

Sighing, she replied, "No."

"Okay," Brandon answered, and that seemed to be the end of it, except...

"Do you really think I'd be a bad mom?" Teva blurted out as she rinsed off their plates and the pans she'd used when cooking.

Brandon hung his head down between his shoulders for a second before turning around so he could lean back against the counter.

"I think," he started, then squinted his eyes behind his glasses as he decided to change tactics. "First of all, I should remind you that Lonnie got custody of me when I was still closer to an 'it' than an actual person. I barely remember my mom, so I'm probably not the best judge of what makes a good parent."

"But you've had plenty of experience with what makes a bad one," Teva pointed out, not in a mean way, just stating a sad fact. "And you grouped me in with that bunch."

"No," Brandon was quick to argue. Just the thought of placing his angel anywhere _near_ the same category as his sick fuck of an uncle made his stomach turn. He hadn't meant for her to take his angry comment that way; it was spat out in a fit of hurt, not as an actual judgment of her parenting abilities.

"I was just upset," he continued. "Then you made the mama comment, and it reminded of this kid Nate and I used to hang out with, but it doesn't even matter. What matters is-"

"What kid?" she asked.

Shit. He was on a roll with making the wrong comments, wasn't he? Now if he didn't explain she'd just badger him about it.

With a heavy sigh, and pulling off his glasses to rub at the headache that was just starting to form at his temples, he plowed forward with the story.

"Remember that second home in Glendale? With Todd and Izzy?"

Teva nodded. "That was the one where the older kids locked you in a toy chest for four hours when Nate was at a friend's house or something, right? And your fosters didn't do anything about it?"

Brandon snorted. "Amongst other things, yeah. Anyway, you know how I mentioned that Nate started taking me with him everywhere he went so shit like that wouldn't happen anymore? He had this one friend, went by Rusty- I can't remember what his real name was anymore- who lived in this huge house up in the hills. Kid had everything, even his own soda fountain in his room, and his mom would make us the _best_ oatmeal raisin cookies. She spoiled the hell out of us, and she _adored_ Rusty, and I told him once that I wish I had a mom like that.

"'So do I' was his answer, which obviously confused me. What I didn't know was that his 'mom,' who he actually called 'moms' and it made sense why after Nate explained it to me, was his nanny. His real mom was one of those corp ladies, always traveling, work as her first priority, and her way of bonding with her kid was to send some cred every once in a while to buy himself whatever he wanted. She didn't come to any of his music recitals or track meets, or congratulate him on getting good grades, or come rushing to the hospital the time he fell out of a tree and broke his arm. I never even saw the woman, not once, which was sad enough as it was considering how much we were over there. The worst day was his birthday though. The only thing that thirteen-year-old kid wished for on his candles was that his mom would remember that year. She didn't."

There was a thick silence in the air despite the fact that the water was still running, and Brandon slipped his glasses back on in time to see the almost devastated look creeping onto Teva's face. He was quick to slide closer to her, and he shut off the water as he forced her to let go of the pot she was holding.

"Hey," he said softly, tilting her chin up so she was looking at him. "I said I was mad and it reminded me of that kid, not that you're actually like that mom who didn't care. Think about it. What have you been doing for me since we hooked back up, huh? Should I rattle off a list of mom things really quick? Let's see...you've changed me, cleaned up my puke I don't know how many times, let me cry on your shoulder, fed me, bathed me, put up with my tantrums, entertained me when I was bored even when you were busy, and god forbid, you make me eat healthy food."

She laughed a little at that, which made him smile. Softening his voice, he made sure he was propped against the counter well enough to let go with both hands and pull her against his chest.

"Most importantly, you've been here for me almost every single day, all those days at the clinic, during my treatments, my PT, even the days when I'm being a total pain in the ass. You know how a lot of young couples get a puppy to see how well they'd do at parenting? Well, you got stuck with me, probably the biggest man-baby alive." She laughed again against his neck, and he squeezed her tighter. "And I thank the universe every single day for that. You are going to be a _great_ mom. I'd bet my life on it."

Not knowing what else to say, he nuzzled his face into her hair and planted a kiss on the side of her head, feeling deeply sorry that he'd ever made such a horrible comment. He knew damn well that she would someday make a far better mom than he ever would a dad, and he wouldn't make the mistake of implying otherwise ever again.

* * *

**TBC…**


	8. Chapter 8

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 8

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

The next day was better than the previous three. Bran picked a restaurant for dinner with a little guidance from Teva-only to say whether a place was good or not-and they took the car out-his car, because being in it even if he wasn't driving it made him happy-for a long drive, then went to an art store downtown to pick up Bran's pottery wheel and a starting lump of clay. Teva grilled the salesperson on where they could find a place with a kiln a little closer to their place that would be willing to fire his pieces for him. She also bought him a few different glazes, some with texture added in, which he seemed to like a lot.

Everything was brought back to the apartment and temporarily put in the dining room up against the wall. Immediately after, Teva grabbed her boyfriend and planted one on him, then said suggestively, "You should probably go get in the shower."

Raising an eyebrow, he drawled, "Dinner's not for hours."

"I have a surprise for you," she whispered, then slipped away humming to herself.

Ten minutes later they were in the shower together, but Teva was still hurrying him along in between, well, _hurrying him along_.

Finally, they got dressed and were back out the door ready for dinner, only they were two hours ahead of their reservation and Brandon was wondering just what she was up to. The car was parked along a road in the middle of the city where there was a good sized park, and Teva helped him to walk to an area where a little outdoor stage was set up. Thankfully, some younger kids got up from a bench and let them have it, sitting on the grass nearby.

Leaning in to Teva's ear, Brandon asked, "What is this?"

She grinned and chirped, "Shakespeare in the Park. They're doing _As You Like It_ today."

Brandon's laugh was a little whip crack, and he squeezed her hand. "Thanks."

Shrugging, Teva replied, "It's more for me, I think. I wasn't sure how you felt about live theater, but I wanted to do something you didn't already know about."

"It's perfect. I like a good live performance," Bran stated, and kissed her cheek. Then they settled in and watched the play.

Dinner was quiet and intimate, had over soft candlelight, and with Teva picking food off of Bran's plate as much as she did her own. He laughed about it and in retaliation, stole a decent-sized portion of her steak for himself. Teva drank a lot of wine, and took advantage of the hidden booth to steal some heady kisses over coffee and dessert. They traded jokes and stories, and all in all just had a good time without all the drama they'd been besieged with the past few weeks.

It set the tone for a transition into a peaceful period in their home and relationship. Brandon got acquainted with his pottery wheel and paints, and pretty much completely took over the dining room with his creative projects. Teva went away for a few more days on a solo 'run. She remembered to check in once to say that she was okay, and when she came home the worst injury she was sporting were a couple bruises on her knees and shins. Since the apartment hadn't burned down while she was gone, she assumed Bran had gotten along fine without her.

They bought two more laundry hampers, and Teva yanked the one out of the bathroom, setting them all up in a row in their bedroom. She brought Brandon in, pointed to each one in succession, and said, "Darks, lights, colors, delicates. Pre-sorted." Teva smiled, pleased with herself, and Brandon started doing the laundry more often without her needing to be around to help him sort the loads. For the stuff that was dry clean only, which, let's face it, was only Brandon's stuff, there was a tag hung up in the closet, designating a section of it only for dirty dry-clean-only's which were to be hung up, then brought to the dry cleaner when there was time.

In short, they were beginning to smooth out the kinks from moving in together, developing a routine that worked for both of them, which was why one day, when she absentmindedly lit up a cigarette in the kitchen, and watched Brandon wrinkle his nose and leave the room, it suddenly occurred to Teva that he didn't like her smoking around him.

She put out her cigarette and went to talk to him about it, slinking back into the workout room where he'd started doing some exercises. "B?" Teva began, "Something wrong?" She was opening up the door for conversation, and she really hoped he wasn't going to lie to her about something she already knew was the truth.

That was a problem, Teva was discovering. Brandon had a tendency to lie a lot, and Teva fucking hated when people lied to her. It just wasn't necessary. She'd rather just have it out and be done with it, and goddammit, she was going to train Bran into telling her the truth if it was the last thing she ever did. Slowly, but surely, it was becoming her mission in life.

"Nope," Brandon easily replied as he got out another rep on the leg lift machine. He'd added one more weight on it than usual, pleased with himself that he was actually able to lift it. Smiling blindly in Teva's general direction as he was prone to working his sight while he worked his body, he didn't notice her irritated frown as he asked, "What do you think? I got five more in me?"

"I think," she said in a controlled tone, "that you're changing the subject."

Brandon stopped and furled his brows slightly. "Why wouldn't I? You asked if anything was wrong, I said no, conversation over. What more do you want?"

"Oh, I don't know, the truth?"

She said it so casually that Bran almost missed the actual accusation behind the words. Well, it was a _true_ accusation so it wasn't like he had a right to get upset over her calling him a liar, but it still left him feeling flustered. So he didn't like it when she smoked around him, big deal. It was her place, it didn't kill him to go to another room, and it wasn't worth starting a fight over. With the last several days having gone as amazingly smooth as they could get, why was she suddenly trying to start shit now?

"I said it's fine, Teva," he answered, trying to focus again on doing another five reps. "Just let it go."

"But I don't want to let it go," Teva replied. She made sure not to raise her voice, not to put any anger in it, and she kept her posture loose and easy. "I'm not trying to start something with you; I just want to be able to have a conversation with you." Sidling a little further into the room, she put her back against the wall and slouched down, almost like she was going to sit and hadn't quite completed the motion.

"I understand that this is rough for you, and it's hard for me too. I've never lived with somebody I was dating before, somebody whose opinion I actually cared about," she explained earnestly, "and there are bound to be times when we clash." Swallowing to wet her suddenly dry throat, Teva fought not to back down even though she could see that Bran was getting that look on his face that meant this was going to turn into a fight anyway. It made her want to get her back up too, the best defense being a good offense, after all. It was an internal fight to not get angry, to attack him before she suffered the sting of his own vitriolic words.

She wished for a cigarette, and rubbed her palms against her thighs, the denim making a rough scratching sound against her nails. Just thinking about smoking again reminded her of her intentions and made her speak her mind again. "I hope-no, scratch that-" If she said that, it'd start a fight for sure. "If we can't talk to each other about things other than the sunshine and rainbows stuff, then I don't see how this is going to work long-term, because all that little shit just builds up and becomes bigger shit."

Sucking her lips between her teeth, Teva made herself stop there. It was hard, because she wanted to keep going. There was a rant brewing under the surface about honesty and forthrightness, but she forced it back. She needed to become smarter and more controlled when talking to Brandon about things he didn't want to deal with, because they were both hotheads and it was easy to simply devolve into screeching at each other, and in the end that accomplished nothing but hurting each other's feelings. There was no real communication in that.

_Great_, Brandon sighed, feeling another one of those little tension headaches starting to build. He was getting more of those lately, most of the time when stressing out over whether or not Teva was going to be mad at him for saying or doing certain things. It hadn't been like that back in L.A. when they were living at his place with essentially his rules. Here it was different, like he had to ask permission before he did anything, and god forbid his expression actually give him away that he was even the slightest bit upset about something. That's exactly what led to these types of conversations.

"I don't like the cigarette smoke," he just said straight out, figuring it'd be easier to get that out of the way instead of complaining about the bigger issue. Then they could just move past it and go back to being happy. "The smell's too strong, double for me because I used to smoke, and because of that whole thing where your other senses work better to make up for the missing one."

"Okay..." she drew out, sounding a little surprised that he actually did just confess without too much of a battle. She couldn't just leave it at that, though. Noooo, she had to go and push things into the area where he didn't want to be. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"Because-" The word came out a little too heated, and he clamped up to give himself a second to be a little more careful with what would come out of his mouth next. The headache got a little worse. "This isn't my apartment, it's yours. I don't pay for anything. I don't have the right to say where you can and can't smoke in your own place. I'm mobile now, I can leave the room. It's fine; smoke wherever you want. Case closed."

"But-" Teva stopped herself, bit her tongue, and begged herself to shut up. It didn't work. "-it is our place. You live here too. If..." She stalled, seeing that she was doing just what she'd set out not to do, pissing Brandon off.

With a sigh, she pushed herself off the wall, and waved flippantly. "Forget it." Turning around, Teva slipped back out the door, leaving Bran to his exercises.

In the bedroom, Teva called Red. She knew that if Bran knew just what she was doing, he'd probably be even more pissed off, but geezus, she needed somebody to make her feel better, and somebody to talk to about this weirdness. Brandon didn't want to talk anymore, and she didn't want to keep talking at him because that was just going to start a fucking fight.

It seemed like pretty much all they'd done since officially moving in together was fight, and it was draining. So fuck it, she was going to wrangle a friend into going out for a drink with her, and she was going without Brandon because she needed to vent.

"Hello, Feral," Red's smooth tenor slid through her ears, and she was reminded pleasantly of simpler times, back when they had their kindergarten hair-pulling infatuation, and all Teva wanted out of life was to live like every day was her last. "What can I do for you?"

"You busy?" she asked, careful not to use his name in case Brandon has his earbuds turned up. She'd learned her lesson from the whole you'd-be-a-bad-mom incident.

"Not at the moment," he answered slowly. "Why?"

"You wanna go grab a drink?" Teva wondered, already fishing through the closet, put back to rights after her crying in the closet episode, for a pair of heeled boots and a nicer shirt. The one she found was gunmetal gray silk, a sleeveless top with light, flirty tiers, paired with chunky metallic necklace and matching earrings.

"Sure," Red replied. "Will Ghost be joining us?"

"Ah, no," she drawled, pulling out a simple black blazer out of the closet. "That okay?"

"Fine with me," he said. "You sound like you need to talk."

"I do," Teva sighed, and walked out of the bedroom to the bathroom, fishing out her little make-up bag from underneath the sink. For the first time since Brandon's belated birthday celebration, she put on a little make-up, and made herself look like a girl.

"Well, then I'll meet you at The Wine Cellar, say, in an hour?"

Snorting, she told him, "I'm out the door now. Pardon me if I'm half in the bag by the time you get there."

Chuckling, Red told her, "You're preemptively excused. See you in a bit." The call ended, and Teva looked at herself in the mirror, exhaling quietly. Then she picked up her eyeliner, and started circling her eyes. A little chapstick to make her lips look a little shiny and a little pinker, and she was done.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she edged toward the front door, then called down the hallway, "I'm going out for a little while. Bye!" Teva slipped out the door without waiting for a response.

She knew it was cowardly. She knew it was wrong. She did it anyway.

* * *

Brandon abruptly stopped pretending to be interested in his exercises as soon as Teva was out the door. "Our place." Right. He had, what, some space in the closets? A few drawers in the dresser? A spot in the toothbrush holder? Sure, some of his pots and smaller decorative items were set out on the dressers and end tables. Teva had said that was his painting up on the wall, not that he could tell. Now he had a little corner of the dining room to work on his art...that was a start, he guessed.

His journals? Still stowed away in a tub on the top shelf of the closet where he couldn't really get to them, all mixed up so the blank ones were with the ones he'd written in. Did he need to look at them? No, obviously he couldn't read them, but he hated that they were now out of reach and out of sorts. He hated it more that anyone could find and read them if they really wanted to.

His memory boxes? Oh, hey, _also_ up in storage where they were out of the way. Worse, anyone that wasn't him could just come in and go through those too. All they'd have to do would be to open up the hall closet and take a peek at the top shelf. That's not where those memories should have been, in an area where they could be gone through, stolen, destroyed. That's what his cubby holes were for, really, to hide the things that really mattered, just in case. Oh, but wait, he wasn't allowed to build those. Teva didn't want her cupboards or walls cut into, places where her landlord wouldn't even know about if he ever bothered to check. That was the whole point of them, making them invisible. That didn't matter though. His most private possessions obviously weren't important enough to keep safe.

The thoughts ate at him, expanding upon the headache that he thought would go away as soon as the almost-argument was over. It didn't this time, just seeming to get worse, and he debated on taking something for it. Really it wasn't that bad, mostly just an irritant that he could probably get over by just taking a nap, but for the first time in a while he kind of _wanted _to take something. Something _real_, he realized with some dismay.

He was having cravings for some of his old vices, tempted to go pluck at the patches in the first aid kit, or maybe see if Teva had a bottle of the strong stuff he could take a shot of. The thought scared him a little, worried that somehow his guardian angel was becoming the very thing that drove him to seek out stress relief in the way of chemical substances. That couldn't happen. He couldn't _let_ that happen.

Looking for something to distract himself with he made his way back out into the living room, preparing to turn on the trid and maybe pass out on the couch until his head stopped hurting. He didn't make it there. One minute he was ambling across the room, the next he was waking up on the floor, his headache gone and replaced with a dull soreness where he'd landed on his shoulder.

"What the fuck?" he muttered as he sat back up. He didn't think he'd been out that long, especially since Teva wasn't back yet, but still...

Not wanting to take any chances, he struggled back up to his feet and called up the clinic.

"Hey, Neil, it's Brandon...Yeah, is Jill around?" He waited for a few minutes before he heard his doctor's greeting, then tried to keep himself calm as he spoke to her. "Jill, hi, listen, I just completely blacked out in the middle of the floor. Is that something I should be worried about?"

"How long were you out for?" she asked.

If she could've seen the eye-roll he gave to the air she would've been set back by his obvious annoyance at the question. "I don't know, Jill, tell me if the sun's still up and maybe I can give you a basic estimate. Could've been thirty seconds or maybe an hour, for all I know."

"Right, sorry, my mistake," she responded, sounding very apologetic. "Has this happened before? Or was there anything unusual going on before or after? Have you been eating and drinking okay?"

Brandon shook his head as if she could see him through the comm. "The only thing I can think of is that I've been getting these headaches lately, just small ones usually. I've been a little stressed so I didn't think it was weird or anything. I had one before I blacked out. This one was a little worse than normal, hit me a little faster too. It disappeared when I woke up though. That's probably good, right?"

"Hmm, I don't know. I don't really like the sound of that. Can you have Sarah bring you over here? We'll just do a quick check to rule out any complications with your treatments or injury, okay?"

"Yeah...she's not here right now. I don't know when she'll be back," Brandon answered. "Can you have someone come pick me up?"

There was a slight hesitation on the other end, probably Jill seeing if there was someone she could spare. "Okay, Brandon, there's a van swinging through your area of town in about ten minutes. They can get you over here."

Brandon let out a breath that was part relief, part nerves. He honestly didn't know if he could handle more bad news about what was going on in his head, but ignoring the issue would probably only make things worse. If this had anything to do with his condition then it was probably better to get it figured out and taken care of earlier rather than later.

"I'll meet them out front," he said. "Thanks, Jill."

After hanging up he sought out the journal that Teva had a tendency to leave on the counter. Yup, that was another thing that he couldn't really say anything about. That journal, his favorite one from the last cache of gifts Nate had given him, was now no more than a glorified notepad. He was glad she used it, sure, but the fact that she had absolutely no idea how meaningful the token had been irked him.

Pulling it to the edge of the counter, he grabbed up the purple glitter pen and wrote in a paper journal for the first time since waking up blind. It was kind of sad that it was just a one word note to mark his whereabouts, but he needed to leave _something_ for Teva so she wouldn't freak out if she got back before he did. If he knew where she was or what she was doing he might have sent her a text explaining the whole thing, but since he didn't want to risk making her worried in the middle of something potentially important, he decided to go with the note instead.

"CLINIC" it read in big, bulky letters written sideways across the page so he'd be damn sure they came out clear and not overlapping one another. He flipped the book face down so it would stay open at the right place, making sure it would be in plain sight as soon as she looked at the counter, and headed out to wait for his ride.

* * *

The Wine Cellar was a little bar on the outskirts of the Quarter and the Arts District where Red lived whose specialization was, clearly, wine. It was one of those trendy places that Red preferred with tasteful decor, clean lines and exposed brick walls, and soft lighting. The staff all wore black button-downs and trousers, although some of the women wore skirts instead, with a skinny maroon tie the same color as their logo.

Teva sat at a table in the window and ordered a bottle of pinot noir and the cheese sampler platter. It came with a few selections of gourmet meats as well, several different kinds of cracker, and some relishes, and was pretty good. She'd had it before when she went there, also with Red, though the occasion had been to discuss business.

She was two glasses in before Damon walked in, tall and put together with that flaming tail of silky hair tied back loosely so it slithered over his dark suit coat. He spotted her at the table, of course, with her back to the wall so that she could keep her eyes on what was going on around her. Naturally, that would put him at the seat across from her with his back to the room, but Red didn't mind it as much as she did, having had a lifetime of putting the room at one's back before becoming a 'runner.

"Hey," Damon smiled in greeting as he slid into his seat at the pub table. He was tall enough that he didn't have to hop, not like Teva did. He unbuttoned his jacket so that it wouldn't wrinkle, and the server discreetly brought another wine glass over and asked if he'd like anything else. After surveying the options, Red shook his head, politely but firmly dismissing the girl.

"Hi," Teva said, finally greeting him, and promptly shoved a cracker loaded with liver sausage, gouda, and pickled beet relish in her mouth.

He winced, looking sympathetic, and asked, "Why so glum?"

Holding up one finger, she indicated that Red should wait a moment. After swallowing, Teva sipped her wine to cleanse her palate, then articulated her fear. "I think my boyfriend is starting to hate me."

At that, Red's eyebrows went up in surprise, and he took a drink from his own glass. "Are you certain?"

"No," Teva drawled, "but it sure seems like it. Pretty much all we've done since we got here is fight. We were just about to have another one, and I am just so sick of fighting and feeling like shit that I backed down. I ran out of my own apartment like some coward. Didn't even tell him where I was going. It'd just feed the fire."

With a shake of his head, Damon said slowly, "You didn't tell him you were going out with me. Why?"

Of course that would be the first thing he'd latch onto. Red was a bit egotistical, and the reason was bound to inflate him with a little self-importance. Sighing, Teva replied, "Because he knows that I used to have a thing for you, and it makes him insecure."

"Oh god," Red blanched, "Why on earth would you tell him that? Recipe for disaster right there. I'm shocked he's cordial in person at all." He took a deep drink from his glass, then shook his head again.

Leaning over the table, a little bit of anger crept into her tone as she hissed, "Oh, I don't know, maybe because I thought the likelihood of our relationship progressing any further than some fun in the LA sun was slim to none." Her lips twitched after a quick pause, and she giggled, sitting back, her ire dissipating as quickly as it had come. "That rhymes."

Lips twitching into a small smirk, her friend stated dryly, "And she's half in the bag."

Waving a dismissive hand, she stated succinctly, "Not quite half. The wine just affects me differently. I get giggly."

"I see," Damon murmured in cultured tones, then looked at her with his expression gone serious. "So you and Brandon have been fighting?"

"It's insane," she groaned, burying her face in her hands, elbows on the table. After a moment, Teva sat back up to say, "It's like the closer he gets to being fully healed, the less he needs me, the more the real me comes out and he doesn't like that chick. He likes the illusion, _the angel_, but that...caretaker side of me is only a very small part of who I am. I can't be that person all the time. It's _fucking exhausting_."

Red made an understanding murmur, but she went right on speaking, letting her thoughts spill off of a tongue loosened with wine. "I don't think he knows me. I don't think he's ever seen me for who I really am, and now... I'm starting to think that you were right, that this was a big mistake, and I know what I have to do to fix it but I'm not quite ready yet."

She drew a breath to say something else, but Damon moved quickly, reaching out and covering a hand with his own. "Teva, slow down," he ordered. "Breathe. You're getting hysterical."

Looking up at him, she showed him a forlorn expression, and moaned, "This is horrible. How does anybody do this? _Why_ does anybody do this? If this is what marriage is like, I'd rather die alone." Teva made another grab for her wine glass, drained it, and then poured the last drops from the bottle in there. Lifting two fingers, she discreetly signaled the waitress. "Another, please."

"Actually, let's have the merlot, if you don't mind," Red quickly cut in. Teva waved her hand in a 'whatever' motion, and Red smiled winningly at the server. "Thank you."

"Not a problem, sir," the young woman blushed, and hurried to the store room. She was back a moment later to open the bottle and let it breathe. She seemed to hesitate at their table side, training dictating that it was her job to pour the first glass, but both customers still had wine in their stemware.

"We'll pour it ourselves when we're ready," Damon said, smiling kindly at her.

"Yes, sir," the girl nodded and turned away to help the others in her section.

"Well," Red commented idly, swirling the wine in his glass, "Now the reason you called me is clear. To answer your unasked question, no, marriage and relationships are not always like what you're experiencing. Some are. Some aren't. It depends on the couple. Maya and I were very young when we married, and as such, we had our fair share of drama. However, we both possessed relatively sedate personalities and mannerisms. Our fights were more like a cold war than anything, and eventually we would sit down, hammer out the terms of surrender, so to speak, and put it behind us."

Before Teva could comment, he kept going, "You...are not like that. I don't think Brandon is particularly sedate either. He may hide under that easy-going demeanor, but he has very firm opinions, like you, and also like you, he's used to doing things his own way. In some ways, I think this is where younger couples have the advantage. Their personalities and habits are less set. Change comes easier to them. However, both you and your boyfriend are, mentally, mostly fully formed adults in the last years of your brain truly shifting into your adult brains, and this is your first serious relationship where you've had to cohabitate with a partner. It's a big change. People don't like change, particularly adults. There are bound to be some rough patches."

"So you're saying this is totally normal," Teva stated dryly, slammed back the last of the pinot noir, and then refilled her glass with the merlot.

"No," Damon replied easily, "I'm saying that there's no such thing as normal. Each person is different, so naturally each relationship is its own entity. They cannot be accurately compared."

Frowning at him, the adept shifted in her seat, then stated succinctly. "I kind of hate you right now. Just give me a straight answer."

"There is none," the shaman replied mysteriously. "There's only what's right for the two of you, in this particular situation, at this particular time. Let me ask you this: do you love him?" Long, elegant fingers plucked up a cracker, and fixed a little sandwich while he waited for Teva to answer him.

After an endless moment where she really thought about it, drinking contemplatively, Teva finally decided, "Yes, but I'm worried that it's not real."

"Explain," Red demanded, then shoved the snack in his mouth, chewing while the woman across from him tried to find the proper words to express her deep-seated fear.

"I think..." she began slowly, then paused to take a drink and shook her head. "No, I don't think, I know. I know our relationship has been defined by tragedy from the start, and when the stakes are high like that, the situation dire, emotions run amuck. Maybe what I thought was love wasn't love. Maybe it was just my brain chemicals reacting to all the stress. His detox forced us into a situation where we were dealing with some intensely intimate moments, and that could have temporarily bonded us together. Then we've just been hopping from tragedy to tragedy ever since, and now that there's no more tragedy... Well, what if that means that we're losing the thing that bound us to one another? That whatever those situations made us experience is fading away as well? That this 'love' is just a trick of the mind?"

Nodding thoughtfully, Red sucked up the last of the contents of his wine glass, and refilled as well. "I can understand why that would be a concern of yours. Unfortunately, I can't tell you whether or not you're right, because love...love isn't one of those things that's easily defined or explained. You either know you're in it, that you have it or feel it, or you don't. But sometimes love is flavored with other things depending on the person. Sometimes love and passion are synonymous. Other times love is more about a feeling of trust, warmth, home, or companionship. The definition varies from person to person. For me, Maya was my best friend, my sanctuary, my partner, and in some ways, my conscience. And how is it you feel about Brandon?"

Another break later, after a cracker-sandwich and a few more sips of vino, Teva answered slowly, "He's...my playmate, my friend, my-this is going to sound awful, and in some ways it is-my child, because I'm always taking care of him."

"Maybe that's the problem," Damon stated thoughtfully, then fished some olives out of the little dish on the tray, and put them on his own small plate. "Perhaps you've become so set in the mode of protector and caregiver that it's stymied the growth of your relationship. What if the very thing that brought you together is now what's tearing you apart? After all, you said it yourself: he doesn't need you to be his angel anymore, but by now its habit. That has to be annoying for him, being treated as though he's a child, someone you need to look after."

"I'm trying to stop," she argued back in a weak voice. "I've insisted that he help out more with the chores and such, and we talked about it and decided that in two months he needs to start taking some financial responsibility for the apartment and bills. I'm not trying to treat him like a burden."

"But...?" Red drawled.

With a huff, Teva admitted, "But it's hard. You're right, I've gotten in the habit of helping him, protecting him, taking care of him, and that's not a good basis for a relationship."

"No, it's not," her friend agreed. "Not if you want it to be an equal partnership. Now, if you have no problem playing the good little wife in her pearls and high heels, then it might work out fine." She shot him a disparaging look that made Red chuckle. "I take it that's a no."

"So how do I fix it?" Teva sighed and took a drought from her glass.

"Stop trying to mother him," Damon suggested. "You just may find that it allows the two of you a greater amount of intimacy. The rest...well, that I can't really help you with. The fighting may resolve itself naturally, or maybe you'll discover that without the caregiver aspect to your relationship, it falls apart entirely. The remains to be seen."

"Gee, thanks, Red," she drawled sarcastically and rolled her eyes.

He laughed loudly at that, and shrugged. "What more can I say? You want the truth, or you would have gone to Madden for the sugar-coating."

That was the truth, so she didn't bother refuting it. They settled back into easier conversation, finishing the second bottle of wine and the tray, then Teva ordered coffee and dessert. By the time she got back to the apartment, she felt more than a little tipsy, thankful that she'd used public transportation rather than drive there, and kicked off her shoes next to the couch.

"I'm home," she called out, but was met only with silence. "Bran?"

Quickly, Teva made her way through the apartment, searching for signs of his having left. His clothes were still all there, and his toothbrush, and his "memories" were still up in the closet. Confused, aggravated, and hurt, she finally slunk back toward the kitchen for a glass of water to help her sober up a little more.

That was when she saw the journal on the counter, and knew she hadn't left it like that, flipped over and open to a particular page. Turning it over, she sucked in a breath at the big, bold letters, and immediately was bombarded with panic. Why hadn't anyone called her? No messages, no nothing. There was no way of telling how long Bran had been gone, and no explanation for why he'd been taken to the clinic. Hurriedly, Teva called the number and waited for someone to answer, to explain what the hell was going on.

* * *

Brandon had gotten changed into a hospital gown and was just getting settled on the bed for Jill to run her scans when someone knocked on the door.

"Dr. Jillian," came Neil's voice, sounding oddly flustered. "I've got Sarah on the line...she's a little upset."

Closing his eyes, Brandon reached out his hand as he sat himself back up, waiting for the feel of the little headset to be pressed into his palm. "Can you give me a minute?" he asked openly to whoever was in the room, then waited until it sounded like everyone had left. "Hi, angel."

"_Hi?_ I get this note saying you're at the clinic with no explanation of what's going on, and all you can say is _hi?_" she nearly shouted, loud enough to make Brandon wince even without his earbuds being in at the moment. Then her voice strangely shifted from anger to concern. "Neil said you blacked out? Are you okay? Do they know what happened? Did this mess anything up with your treatments? Or did it happen _because_ of your treatments? And why the hell didn't you call me? I would've come home or to the clinic. I should _still_ go to the clinic. Why am I still here?"

"Teva," Brandon said firmly, stopping any further hysterical ramblings. "I'm okay, alright? Jill was just getting ready to do the scans so we can see if this even has anything to do with my head trauma shit. It wasn't an emergency, and I didn't know if you got called away for a work thing or something, so I didn't want to freak you out over possibly nothing."

A bitter little laugh mixed with tension escaped her. "Right, because seeing the word 'clinic' written in all caps with you not being here wasn't going to freak me out. Next time just fucking send me a message or something so I don't have to come home to a heart attack."

"Even if you're in the middle of a 'run?" he countered with.

There was a long pause before she simply said "I'm coming down there" and hung up. That was what he thought. She wouldn't want to be distracted on a job worrying about him because shit like that was what got 'runners killed. It wouldn't do him any favors if she wound up dead because of some stupid health concern of his that might have been nothing. Maybe he just _hadn't_ been drinking enough water lately or something.

Either way, serious or not he was never going to risk making that call to her if she was on a 'run. He knew it, she knew it, and it was something they could silently agree on and let it go at that. For now he just wanted to get the tests over with, hopefully hear that it was nothing to worry about, and go home to a peaceful night with no more arguing.

* * *

"Fucking fuck," Teva hissed as she zipped her boots back up, and her heels clicked out the door. A short walk and two trains later, she was at the clinic, still mostly tipsy, which was a cute way of saying drunk. She flicked her cigarette into the street, and slipped in DocWagon's front doors, heading for the main receptionist area.

She kind of missed LA then as she caught sight of the nurse at the reception desk, and realized that she had no idea what her name was. In LA, they'd known almost everybody who worked at the clinic. It had been reassuring, knowing that they were personally invested in Brandon's care. Now she...

"I'm looking for someone. Wilson, Brandon," Teva told the woman when she looked up.

"Sure, just a..." The nurse tapped a few buttons on her screen, then smiled pleasantly, "And you are?"

"Sarah Jones." Teva watched the nurse consult the screen in front of her, finding her name on Brandon's files.

"Okay, he's in ER room twelve. Take the first right at the hallway."

"Thanks," Teva said to the older woman with the old fashioned glasses, and took off down the corridor.

Brandon's room was on the right side of the right hallway, and she heard voices inside. Gently, she knocked on the door, and waited patiently in the hall.

"Come on in, everyone's decent," Jill called out, which made Brandon smile a little. At the moment he was sitting up, resting his chin on one of his arms that, in turn, was resting on his bent knees. His bare legs were covered up by the thin hospital blanket, and his other arm was in the doctor's captivity getting a sample of blood taken from it.

"Hey, angel," he greeted, recognizing her footsteps as she came into the room. "Welcome to the...party. Have you been drinking?"

The fact that she stopped moving before she even got to the bedside was as much a confirmative answer as any, not that he needed it. He could smell it on her-not strong, not like taking tequila shots or anything, but it was still there. Apparently she'd _already_ been partying. Without telling him. While he'd been passed out on the floor for however long it had been. Fantastic.

"It doesn't matter," he said with a shake of his head. There were more important things going on at the moment that demanded his attention, and he kind of preferred it if Teva was there to just hold his hand in case things had taken a turn for the worse. As soon as Jill released it, he held it out in his angel's direction. "Come here. Please?"

The fingers of both her hands folded around his, and she whispered a little "sorry" into his ear.

Again, he shook his head. "Don't worry about it right now," he answered softly, and immediately regretted the "_right now_" part. Now they'd have to bring it up again later because he just gave away the fact that it did bother him, but that he just didn't want to get into it at the moment.

Nothing to be done for it now, he moved past it and scooted over on the bed a bit to give Teva room to sit down. She accepted the invitation willingly enough and leaned her head against his shoulder as Jill excused herself to go do the analysis on all of Brandon's tests. They sat in silence for a couple minutes until Teva was the one that broke it.

"So what happened, exactly?" she asked.

Brandon shrugged his free shoulder, continuing to lean on his knees and stare ahead at nothing. "I don't really know. My headaches might have something to do with it. I had another one coming on before you left, and I guess just sort of hit the floor. It happened pretty fast. I don't know if...I just don't know."

"Bran...have you been getting more headaches than you told me about?" she asked, and she had that overly controlled tone again that she got whenever she was trying not to be angry with him, or maybe she was just hiding more concern this time. It was hard to tell.

"Maybe. A few," he admitted, "but they weren't bad, and they went away pretty fast. I didn't think it was a big deal. Besides, it's not like you tell me whenever _you're_ hurting."

Her movement against his arm indicated she was probably about to say something else, maybe make some other argument, but for whatever reason she stopped herself. Brandon subconsciously squeezed her hand a little bit in appreciation for that; he _really_ didn't want to have any sort of argumentative conversation right then. When Jill came back with his test results though, it just opened the door for a whole different issue.

"Well, good news and bad news," the doctor began, and plowed ahead without actually giving Brandon the option to decide which one he wanted to hear first. "The good news is that what you're experiencing isn't going to have any negative effects on your sight progression, nor is it directly related to your treatments-"

"That's a relief," Brandon breathed out, releasing some of his anxiety.

"-per se," Jill finished. "Hence the bad news. The damaged connections in your Enhancer are trying to create a link using the newly grown cells, but it wasn't designed to work that way. Your headaches are most likely caused from an attempt to process and store information in a system that's no longer running on all its cylinders and this attempt to limp along is tripping up other processes."

"So...what exactly does that mean?" Brandon asked. "What do we do?"

"_We_ aren't doing anything yet," the doctor answered. "You've got a decision to make, and I want you to take at least a day to think about it, talk it over with each other to decide what the best course of action is."

Teva was sitting up straighter now, listening intently. "What are the options?" she asked.

There were three, according to Jillian. The first was that they do nothing and hope the Enhancer eventually gave up trying to bond with the new cells on its own. This would mean more headaches, probably more random blackouts, and a slight possibility of triggering lapses in memory. The option was the safest of the three, but it also held the possibility of adding yet another permanent defect Brandon would have to suffer from should the Enhancer decide to keep chugging along for life. He was not very impressed by the odds the doctor was giving him, and mentally shut that option down right off the bat.

The second choice was to go in and dig the whole system out. Any sort of brain surgery held its risks, but it sounded like the process wouldn't be too bad. They'd just have to drill a hole, stick their little tools in there, make a few snips, and pull out anything that wasn't supposed to be in his head in the first place. The recovery time wouldn't be bad at all, the problem would be resolved, and all would be right with the world again barring any complications during surgery. Brandon was about to just go ahead and okay that option, but then Jillian mentioned a third.

"We could have specialists go in and repair the damage, reset the connections to where they need to be," she explained. "If you remember the risks as they were explained to you when you first got your Enhancer installed, you should know that now they'll be worse. Not only will the specialists be attempting to reconnect a fully matured unit, they'll also have to be mindful not to damage the improvements made in the areas of your brain that we've been attempting to regrow. Brandon, if they touch the wrong thing in there, there's a chance we could go back to square one with your treatments. Worse, square one might not work this time around."

Not to mention, of course, the standard risks of any brain surgery that could cause permanent impairment in any number of basic functions, or possibly even death. Brandon wasn't really thinking about that though. It had occurred to him in passing that maybe he could get the Enhancer repaired, but he never really took the thought seriously. With still not knowing whether he would ever regain his sight again or not, it just became another one of those things that sat on the backburner, something to be dealt with later once he was either back to normal or living forever blind.

Things had changed now though. If he _did_ get his sight back he would most likely take the chance to get the thing repaired anyway. It saved his ass more times than he could count during his 'runs; his special line of work required that he be able to remember all the little details. Not liking the sound of Option A in the slightest, that meant the docs were going have to drill into his head either way, and he didn't see any real point to getting the Enhancer removed now just to have to go in and have a new one installed later. As far as he could tell, it made the most sense to go ahead and just get the thing fixed, maybe even get it modified so it worked under his new circumstances instead of just with his sight.

"Brandon," Jill said sternly. "I'm serious. Take some time to really think this over. If you call me back any sooner than tomorrow evening with your answer I'm going to ignore you. Do you understand?"

"Got it, chief," he answered with a smile. "Can I get dressed now, or what?"

* * *

The way home was long and silent. Thankfully, Brandon had his wheelchair with him, which made the trip easier, believe it or not. Teva walked behind him and pushed when he got tired. They got the good seats on the train. Finally, they pushed through the door of the apartment, and Teva went in the kitchen for more water.

She was waiting for the fight to start. Had been waiting since the clinic for it, honestly. Brandon was pissed that she'd been out drinking, and had stated that they'd be revisiting the issue later. Well, it was "later" now.

When he didn't say anything though, just locked up the door and set the alarm, then wheeled himself down the hallway into the bedroom, she sighed in relief, placing her hands on the counter next to the sink and slumping over it. Well, that was good. Maybe they could just go to bed and talk in the morning. Teva was tired and didn't particularly feel like doing so that night.

Slipping down the hall into their bedroom, for a second she just watched Brandon get ready for bed, neatly stripping off his clothing until all that remained were his boxers, and putting everything in the appropriate hamper. Deciding to follow his example, Teva perched on the edge of the bed, unzipping her boots and putting them back in their spot in the closet. Her jacket and jeans, as well as socks and underwear, put in the darks hamper, and her silk tank top in the delicates bin. The jewelry was placed back in the box on the dresser, necklace suspended from a little hook, earrings thrown carelessly into the bottom compartment.

Normally Teva slept naked. She preferred it to restrictive pajamas. That night she pulled out a pair of small, dark shorts, possibly the same ones she'd worn to bed in LA on the first trip, and a black tank top. She couldn't imagine trying to sleep in the nude next to Brandon knowing that he was mad at her. Just the thought made her feel far too vulnerable.

Brandon took his arm crutches into the bathroom with him. She heard the water running as he brushed his teeth through the wall separating their bedroom from the bathroom. Sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for her turn to get in there and brush her teeth as well as take off her make-up, Teva found herself absently lifting a hand to her lips, chewing anxiously at the skin around her index finger. When she tasted blood, she finally realized what she was doing, and sucked her finger into her mouth up to the first knuckle, cleaning it off.

Teva shook her head at herself, and stood up, swiping her cigarettes and lighter off of the dresser. She padded out to the living room and deactivated the alarm, then headed to the big window with the fire escape outside. Twisting the lock, she slid the window all the way open, and threw a leg over the sill, waiting until she touched the grating on the other side before bending forward and pulling the rest of her body through. Out on the fire escape, she lit a cigarette, and let the wind carry the smoke away from the apartment building.

It was chilly in her bare feet and minuscule nightclothes. If she'd been thinking, she would have put shoes on first, but she hadn't anticipated how much the grate would hurt her feet. Still, it was worth it to not ignite the brewing displeasure in the air. Teva rolled her eyes in exasperation at herself when she realized she was chewing on the skin around her middle finger now in between puffing at her cigarette. It happened a lot when she was especially stressed; her oral fixation acted up, and suddenly she'd chew on pretty much anything. She'd done it with her nails when she was a kid, then switched to the skin around them to make herself stop chewing her nails, but that wasn't all. Pens, pencils, straws, wrappers, bottle caps, toothpicks...pretty much anything she could chew on, she would when she was stressed enough.

The bathroom door creaked open, but she couldn't see far enough down the hall to confirm visually that Brandon was going to bed. Oh well.

She finished up her cigarette leisurely, then flicked it off the fire escape. If she was going to continue going out there, Teva was going to need to bring out an ash tray. Rubbing her gooseflesh, she headed back inside the apartment, and shut the window again. The alarm was reset.

Teva walked to the bathroom and did her own nightly routine, washing her face clear of make-up, then went through the steps of her dental regime.

Brandon was already in bed by the time she got in there. She crawled underneath the covers and put her back to him. For once, they didn't touch as they were falling asleep, and they didn't talk. All was quiet, but for that lingering tension in the air that she couldn't quite shake. The muscles on either side of her spine were taut. The silence wasn't peaceful or relaxing. It felt like the figurative calm before the storm. Resolutely, Teva pressed her eyes shut tightly and willed herself to try and fall asleep. Instead, she laid there looking at the pretty swirling patterns on the inside of her eyelids.

* * *

**TBC…**


	9. Chapter 9

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 9

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

Brandon fell asleep glad that Teva hadn't tried to bring anything up. Maybe they could just forget about being mad at each other come morning and this whole stupid thing would blow over...until they had to talk about his Enhancer issue. That had potential to be either a very easy conversation if she just let him make his own decision, or an argument depending on what her standpoint on it was. Either way, he just wanted to go to sleep for the time being and not worry about anything until tomorrow.

Except even in sleep he couldn't find peace. His dream took him back to the moment just before his collapse, but instead of just blacking out and waking back up, no harm, no foul, he began to bleed. It poured from his eyes, his nose, his ears, and then he was choking on it. Writhing around on the floor, running out of air, he tried to get Teva on her comm. When she finally answered she just laughed at him, drunk off her ass, and told him he was a big boy, he could get to the clinic by himself, that the DocWagon would come pick him up as soon as he neared flatline just like always.

Then the Wagon did come, only it wasn't a paramedic that came up to get Brandon. It was Lonnie, and Lonnie knelt down to dip his finger in the blood, marveling at the redness of it.

"Thanks, kiddo," he had grinned, "You know how much I like it when you bleed."

Brandon woke with a start, shaking visibly as he scrambled for his glasses on the nightstand. He needed to see, to make sure he was where he thought he was, which hopefully was in his own bed.

No, he wasn't there either. He was in Teva's bed, not in LA but in New Orleans, nowhere near the long-deceased Lonnie, and nowhere near anyone else who would give a shit if Teva up and abandoned him. Needing to hear a familiar voice, a friendly one that reminded him of home, he dropped himself into his chair and went out to the front room so he could make a call.

"Hello?" Mrs. Reyes answered, and Brandon could've cried he was so relieved to hear her pick up.

"Nana, it's Brandon. Can we talk?" he sighed.

She laughed, and the sound was like garden bells tinkling on a spring breeze. "There is always time to talk to my hijo."

After taking a deep breath that was meant to calm his nerves but only served to open the floodgates, Brandon let loose with his issues. "I don't know what to do, nana. Teva...I keep feeling like she was expecting to come back here and just jump back into her old life. I keep...intruding, or getting in the way, or just...getting on her nerves, and I can't get angry or sad or annoyed about anything because then she feels bad for dragging me out here, and I don't want her to feel bad, but then we're not talking, and I just get more agitated because I'm trying to just sit back and follow her rules and not act like I'm trying to change her whole life, and it's _hard_."

"Mijo," nana started very patiently. Her voice was calming, something he needed right then. "She did not drag you over there. You decided as a couple that it would be for the best. That means you must learn to communicate with one another as a couple. Sometimes that means you will hurt each other's feelings. It is just the nature of two people learning to function as one unit. You love her, Brandon. That means you should not be afraid to talk to her."

They talked for a little while after that, just catching up on the week, and she put tata on the phone to also give some parental advice. By the time Brandon hung up the line the remnants of the nightmare had slipped back into that lockbox in his head, but he was still a bit unsure on how to handle himself around Teva. She had said to just talk to her, and now his nana and tata had said the same. The problem was that sometimes Teva said one thing and did another, and tended to be completely unpredictable in how she reacted to things. It was fucking confusing.

Needing something more normal to really start his day, he set about making some breakfast for himself and Teva. Sure, maybe it was a stall tactic because he didn't actually want to talk to Teva about anything negative, but at least it was a productive one. Maybe it'd put her at ease a little more before he took that step in telling her that he didn't appreciate her not letting him know what she was doing. Well, not _exactly_ what she was doing; he didn't need a detailed synopsis. He just needed to know if she was available for calls in case something like-

In his stress over debating how to start the potential argument, Brandon didn't think to pay attention to the slight headache building again. The moment he gripped the counter to pull himself out of the chair so he could reach a mug from the cabinet, his system got overloaded and he shut down again. He missed the chair on the way down, landing in a heap on the kitchen floor.

* * *

Teva didn't sleep so much as she drifted in that place between awake and not, too aware of the other body in the bed to truly relax. Sometimes she was a little closer than others, like the instant just before the mattress jerked and Brandon woke up with a gasp. It was enough to bring her back to the surface of awareness, but she kept her eyes closed like a little kid as Bran got up and left the room, feigning sleep because she still wasn't ready to face him.

The second he was gone, she finally felt that tension release, and her mind went gray and fuzzy as sleep rushed up to claim her. What seemed like a second later, her eyes blinked open, and she placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heart with its rabbit-rapid beat under her hand.

She didn't know why her heart was racing, or what had made her go so completely from the first moments of true rest to fully aware. Had she had her own nightmare?

Something forced her out of bed, and she stumbled down the hall toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee was a strong lure, and she rounded the corner only to see Bran's empty wheelchair but no Brandon.

"Bran?" she shouted, moving forward quickly around the breakfast counter and rushing to his side where he was collapsed on the floor. "Oh shit," Teva hissed, sliding to her knees next to him, and cautiously feeling for a pulse and breath, both of which he had. There wasn't any blood either, which was a positive sign, but there were a ton of injuries that could easily be overlooked because they were internal. For that reason, she didn't try to turn his head or move him, instead calling his name urgently to try and wake him up.

When all she got was a light grunt, Teva stood back up and cranked the tap on, scooping a little water in her hand. Back at his side, she let the cold droplets hit his face, because nothing was more annoying than little trickles of liquid sliding around unheeded. It was also a little nicer than the traditional glass of water to the face approach. "Brandon, wake up!"

Brandon blinked, then flinched as water slid beneath his glasses into his eye, making him aware of the fact that the lenses weren't settled evenly on his face. Between the discomfort of that, the water, the hardness of the floor, and Teva calling him, he finally came to the rest of the way.

"Hold on, don't move yet," Teva ordered him, placing a hand on his arm to keep him from rolling over. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

Doing a quick internal check on his body, he shook his head slightly. "Just a little where I...hit the floor, I guess. I'm okay."

Teva jumped in to help the second Brandon began to sit up, supporting his head and shoulders, and helping him turn so he was sitting against the cupboard. He reached up to adjust his glasses properly, then his hand subconsciously began to travel to the side of his head where it must have impacted with the linoleum. Teva pulled his hand away and checked him out for herself, wincing at the same time he did as her fingers brushed against the goose egg that was forming there.

"Are you dizzy at all?" she asked, sounding somewhere between all business and worried sick. It made him feel good, having her right there taking care of him just like she always did. His dream had been fucking stupid. There was no way Teva would ever laugh at him if he was genuinely injured, wouldn't even be capable of ignoring it if she was given the choice. It didn't matter that they'd been fighting lately, or that they were walking on eggshells around each other. Right now her entire focus was on making certain that he was going to be okay.

"No," he answered, giving her a soft smile. "Just a little bruised. I don't think I was even standing all the way before I went down."

She took a second to pull his glasses off his face despite just having seen him readjust them, looked very closely at him (he assumed she was checking out his pupils), put the glasses back on, and stood up to get the cold pack from the freezer. "Here, put that on your head. We're going to sit here for a few minutes just to be sure, then I'll get you back in your chair. I don't want you standing again until we figure this thing out with your Enhancer."

"Teva, really, I'm okay," he reiterated. "And I can stand. I just have to pay better attention to the headaches."

Sighing, Teva sat down on the floor beside him. "Humor me, please? I don't really want to watch you split your head open on the counter."

Brandon was quiet for a few seconds before bravely venturing further into the subject at hand. "So are we on the same page with not just letting the Enhancer fuck with my head?"

"I was not on board with Option A, no," she agreed, but didn't push it any further than that. He didn't either, instead going quiet again for a few minutes as he held the cold pack to his head. When Teva had convinced herself that he was going to live, she helped him into the chair, pushed him into the living room, then gave him a hand moving to the couch since one of his was still occupied with the ice pack.

"Thank you," he said graciously, but before she could reply he went ahead and plowed forward with some things he was holding onto from the night before. He and Teva were okay right now, amicable, so maybe it wouldn't turn into a fight. "And thank you for smoking outside last night."

Her lips tweaked into a small grin. "See? Wasn't that big of a deal, was it?"

"No," he admitted. "Which brings us to the being kind of drunk thing..."

Teva paused, kind of just froze in the midst of whatever she was about to do. "Is me drinking a problem?" she asked. "Because I think I've been pretty fair in-"

"_No._ No," he was quick to correct. "It's not the drinking, it's that you didn't _tell_ me you were drinking-no, that's not... This isn't coming out right..."

Already he thought he could feel another small headache coming on, and he realized then why this only seemed to be happening when he and Teva fought, or when he was thinking about a potential fight. He was seeing her as a mark. He was watching her, studying her, looking for her cues and tells and giveaways to how she might react to his words. His Enhancer was trying to store that vital information that kept him alive on so many 'runs, and whenever he tried to predict how a future discussion might go he was trying to access said stored information that didn't actually exist. It was pure survival extinct, something he shouldn't have been doing at all. Teva wasn't a mark, she was his girlfriend.

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to alter his way of thinking back to where he knew he was just dealing with a person he completely trusted, not someone that was a potential threat. "I don't need to know exactly where you're going or what you're doing," he further explained once he was convinced he could speak in a calm, rational manner. "It just...I just need to know when you're going out if it's safe to contact you or not. I was kind of...scared, honestly, when I woke up on the floor yesterday. It would've been nice if I knew you could've been there. That's all."

Sealing her lips together for a second, Teva admitted to herself that was a fair request. Honestly, she'd been kicking herself for the decision to leave without telling Brandon before she even left.

Nodding, she pursed her lips, and replied, "That's fair. I should have told you where I was going. I was just being a bitch."

Brandon's brows arched for a second at her easy admission.

Sticking her tongue out slightly with a 'yuck' face firmly pasted on, Teva said with dry amusement, "Don't get too excited. This isn't some sign of personal growth or anything. I knew I was being a bitch before I even left."

Her boyfriend chuckled, and murmured, "Well, at least you can admit it."

And that kind of pissed her off, but she shut it down fast. As usual, Brandon wasn't strong enough to handle her real feelings, so it was back to being Nurse Teva.

"Look," Teva said easily, "I was just mad, and I didn't want to have another confrontation last night. I'll make an effort to not rush out like that again though without letting you know what I'm doing." Shifting her weight quickly, she asked, "Now do you want something for breakfast?"

"That'd be nice, thank you," Brandon agreed.

Spinning on her heel, she went over to the kitchen to figure out something simple for them to eat.

Teva wound up fixing them some oatmeal with a little extra cinnamon on his, and they watched the trid for a little while in what seemed like a friendly truce for the time being. Brandon let himself relax, glad that a couple of the minor issues were out of the way, and choosing to ignore the bigger "intruding on her life" problem for the time being. Maybe if they just kept at all the little things one at a time it would eventually chip away at the major one, and then they wouldn't have to ever discuss it at all.

Once they were finished eating, he shifted himself so he was laying on her lap, something he hadn't done for a long while, but he wanted that close contact after the cold war they'd had last night. Between that and the nightmare and the fall and the fact that the little lump on his head was letting him know that it was going to be a pain in the ass for a bit, he craved that warm affection that she had begun showing less of lately. God, he hoped she hadn't started resenting him being there. He didn't exactly have anything left to go home to except for a place on the Reyeses' couch.

Not wanting to dwell on that line of thought, Brandon focused on the way that Teva had subconsciously begun running her fingers through his hair, deftly avoiding the sore spot. He was half asleep when he noticed that the normally smooth, repetitive motion had slowed down and lost its rhythm, eventually coming to a stop. She'd passed out before him, he mused, and he snuggled in a little tighter. Apparently her night hadn't been any better than his, which made him feel a little sad, and more than a little guilty. For now though, they were okay. As far as he knew they didn't have anything going on that day, and he wasn't allowed to call back Dr. Jillian until that night anyway. That meant they could sleep now and figure out his Enhancer surgery later, and he had every intention of taking complete advantage of that extended time.

They slept for a little while, their short-lived peace interrupted when the trid began playing some sort of action flick, the gunshots startling both Brandon and Teva awake almost instantly.

"Wow," Brandon laughed after he'd dropped his head back down onto Teva's lap. "It's been so long I wasn't sure if I'd still react like that."

"Once a 'runner..." she implied, then cringed a little as she shifted beneath him. He took that as his cue to sit up so she could stretch out whatever kinks she'd built up sleeping in that position.

"I should do that again," he said almost absently as she stood. "Not 'running, obviously, or not yet. I meant shooting a gun. You should take me to your range."

Teva pulled her arms over her head, lengthening her whole body in a way that he always thought was kind of sexy. He liked watching her stretch. "Do you think that's a good idea right now?" she asked. "I'm not really keen on the thought of you blacking out while holding a loaded weapon."

"Oh...good point," he frowned. "We should probably wait until after I get my Enhancer fixed, huh?"

It didn't occur to him what he'd just said, too caught up in admiring his view, until she asked, "So is that what you decided, then? To actually get it fixed?"

"Well...yeah. I need it," he answered, already feeling his walls slipping into place. It wasn't like she'd given him a tone or anything, but he just wasn't sure. If she wanted to turn this into an argument he was going to fight for what he wanted. It was his head, after all.

With a little shrug, Teva stated, "It's your head." Unknowingly, it echoed Brandon's private thought.

She bent forward until she could place her hands on the ground near her feet, and rounded her back, finally feeling that pinch in her spine pop, and the tension leave. Teva admitted to herself that she may have held the pose a little longer than necessary, feeling Brandon's gaze like a wave of heat at her back. It was good to be wanted. Knowing that he still desired her, well, it wasn't as good as not fighting, but it went a ways toward convincing her that her relationship wasn't quite dead yet. So what if they sucked at the talking thing? They were still good at the sex thing.

Consolation prizes. They were a tricky thing.

Standing back up, Teva shot Brandon a glance over her shoulder, and it held everything that it probably shouldn't have, considering the topic under discussion: flirtatiousness, desire, invitation.

Brandon swallowed hard then asked in a voice that might have been a little lower than usual, "It's my head?"

"Yep," Teva agreed, and slinked back to the sofa slowly, her feet placed one in front of the other, turning her walk into a catlike little strut. It was something that would have been more appropriate on a runway than in their living room. "Your head, your body; you have to live with your decisions."

Bran's expression took on a surprised cast to it, and she chuckled in response. "Shocked? Gearing up for an argument, were you?"

With an uncertain motion, he tilted his head from side to side, a little grimace on his lips, then admitted, "Maybe."

"No argument here," she soothed, and put her knee on the cushion outside of his thigh, then the other followed until Teva was hovering over his lap in her tiny shorts and tight tank top. She felt hungry for him in a way that was different from usual. Beneath the surface of the arousal was a tightly controlled desperation to prove that they were still good together, that all the little fights they'd been having lately didn't mean they no longer loved each other. "But," Teva said with a hint of her usual sass, "that mentality goes both ways. I'd expect you to let me do whatever I wanted with my body, because I'm the one who has to live in it. So, for instance-"

Draping her arms over his shoulders, Teva reveled in the sudden tension between their bodies, the heat. That was a kind of tension she much preferred over the usual stuff. Brandon's arms slid around her waist, simply holding her for a moment as she kept the scant inches between their bodies to build anticipation. "-if I wanted to get my nipples pierced, I'd just go ahead and do that." She lowered her mouth over her boyfriend's, but stopped a second before their lips actually touched. "Not that I would," Teva whispered, "I had them pierced once when I was younger. The right one got ripped out in a fight. That's why my right nipple isn't as sensitive as the left. It healed up fine, but there was some nerve damage."

"Did not know that," Brandon breathed against her.

They were literally so close that when Bran flicked his tongue out to lick his lips, he touched hers as well, and that, just that little contact seemed to snap his control. He groaned, and his arms tightened, bring her down and closer into him so that the space between their bodies vanished. His lips crashed into hers, and she surged into the kiss, and for awhile everything was blissful.

Brandon chuckled lightly once they were through, finding themselves in a tangled heap on the floor beside the couch. He hardly remembered the moment when they'd rolled off the couch, so lost were they in seemingly searching for that spark that he desperately hoped they hadn't lost. Teva was right there with him, more so actually, to the point where she challenged him physically to meet her on the level of near-frantic animals. The sex had been wild, aggressive, well outside his usual comfort zone in that marks were left on skin, blood was drawn in little beads from teeth and nails, hair was pulled, bumps and bruises were aggravated; and yet, it had been one of the best sexual experiences he'd ever had. It was strange what the mind and body insisted on when trying to make up for the wrongs in a person's environment. Brandon and Teva fighting all the time had apparently been very, _very_ wrong, and at the moment he almost wondered if that hadn't actually been a good thing.

With the world having been reset on "right" mode as far as Brandon was concerned, they went about the rest of their day in normal, pre-arguing-all-the-time fashion. They showered together, ate lunch together, Teva took him out for a little while just to restock on groceries, during which time Brandon obediently stayed in his chair as requested. He felt good, relaxed, like some of the weight and guilt had been lifted off his shoulders, even when Teva crawled outside to go smoke later that afternoon. It didn't seem to bother her at all, and it made him wonder why it had been so hard to just tell her the smoke was aggravating to begin with.

By the time he was allowed to call the clinic back with his decision, he was fully confident that he was making the right one and that Teva would be with him every step of the way. She knew that surgery would set him back a few days, which in turn would set her life off course for another few days, but she seemed to be completely okay with that. Jill sounded okay with it too, after hearing both the certainty in his tone and about the fact that his girlfriend was on board and willing to play nursemaid if needed. It wasn't like she hadn't done it before.

So with the surgery scheduled for five days from then, and no more arguments just around the corner as far as Brandon was concerned, he and Teva went back to living like a healthy couple. He did convince her to let him walk around on his crutches a bit and to do his standing exercises, but only in her presence so she could catch him if he fell. Over those five days she only had to catch him twice, and he wasn't entirely certain whether the one time he passed out on the couch was related to his Enhancer or if he was just genuinely tired. It was hard to say considering he and Teva had, for some reason, been acting a little like a couple of cats during breeding season.

The sex on the night before his scheduled surgery had been a lot like that frantic moment on the couch a few days before, this time adding in his sweets kink, but there was also a hint of fear in it, of maybe even some sadness. It was an unspoken knowledge that something could go wrong, that he could come out of the procedure more crippled than he already was, might wake up an entirely different person with no memories and a new personality, or might not even wake up at all. There was a goodbye in their love making somewhere, just in case, and they clung to each other afterwards so tightly that the great dragons themselves wouldn't have been able to pull the two apart.

Brandon hadn't been allowed to eat anything the following morning, but they both did their best to keep things as normal as possible. Anxieties were hidden behind smiles and wisecracks, nervous energy was used to fuel the morning exercises, and anything negative was quickly pushed aside or flipped into something that could be laughed at. It wasn't until Brandon was haphazardly signing waivers and risk documents that he allowed himself to actually become a little frightened. There was just something about saying, "No, I won't sue you if I die, and yes, Sarah Jones holds all rights to my remains and my assets in the case of death," that put that whole reality spin on the situation.

"Okay, Brandon, that takes care of all the legal work," Jill said softly. "If you're ready, I'll go ahead and take you back for prep. For you, you're pretty much going to blink and it'll be over. Sarah, load up your comm with reading material. This is going to suck way more for you, as I'm sure you've noticed our magazine selection was designed for seamstresses, hunters, and handymen. You'd be surprised how many patients we see with knitting needles in their eyes, shotgun pellets up the ass, and screwdrivers jammed through their palms."

Teva and Brandon both laughed at that a little, easing the tension somewhat, and Brandon gave his angel a long, loving kiss before he got wheeled away. It wasn't a goodbye, it was a _see you on the other side_. As long as he kept telling himself that, he would will it into being. Things would work out, they had to otherwise everything he had experienced before now would all have been for nothing.

_You're going to be fine,_ was his mantra as he fell asleep under the anesthetic, the drugs taking him away from all his worries for either hours or forever.

Teva finished a novel in the time that Brandon was in the O.R. and was in the middle of catching up on her messages, which she'd let slide in the past week in favor of taking care of Bran. Granted, it hadn't been done long-sufferingly, or at least not as long-sufferingly as she was making it seem. Once she was forced back into that role, the discord in their relationship seemed to dissipate, mainly because there wasn't much room for it. Any stress could set Brandon off, a headache being the only preemptive warning sign before he'd pass out cold.

Her need to correct Brandon, to try and teach him that Normal Teva was vastly different from dealing with Nurse Teva, wasn't worth the potential risk to his health. Someday he'd be better, and there were bound to be more fights as Bran discovered that he really didn't know his girlfriend any better than he had the first week they hooked up. And maybe that would result in him getting fed up and moving out, claiming that he'd been deceived, or maybe they'd be that much stronger for it, maybe they'd last past a few months.

Three hours later, Dr. Jill came back in the room smiling. "He's in recovery. Everything went smoothly."

Returning the grin, Teva said, "Thank you. When can I see him?"

"He'll probably be in recovery for another hour, and then we'll bring him back in here. Obviously, he'll be staying the night, then depending on how he's doing, we'll probably discharge him the next day with strict orders to take it easy," the doctor replied.

Teva took that to mean that she had to fully immerse herself in Nurse Teva for a few more days.

Eventually, they'd have to find some sort of balance between nice Teva and Normal Teva, find some way to include her in the romantic relationship instead of her just coming out when she was pissed off with Brandon.

"We'll let you know when he's awake," Dr. Jillian told her kindly, but added, "You won't be able to see him though, not until he's mostly coherent and we bring him back into this part of the clinic, okay?"

"Got it," Teva replied with a little edge in her voice. Like she hadn't understood the instructions the first time.

The doctor gave her a brusque smile, then turned on her heel to leave.

For her part, Teva settled in to wait awhile longer, bringing up a new book on her comm, and immersing herself in something other than a worrying reality for awhile.

True to Dr. Jill's word, Brandon had no concept of the passage of time that he'd spent on the operating table. His ability to interact with people upon his first wakening was sketchy at best, still under the effects of the anesthetic too much to really communicate beyond mumbled, one word answers. He thought maybe they said something about moving him, but he was out again before he went anywhere.

The second time he woke up was better, and after answering more questions with more coherency, he was allowed to see Teva for a little while. She came in quietly and sat by his bedside, much like she did every time he was laid up after his treatments. This time was different though, better. He was just as exhausted and soft-spoken as always, but at least he wasn't plagued by little lightning flashes of pain zipping across his head. There wasn't that fear that he'd slip into one of his fits at any given moment, and his body wasn't suffering from the soreness that came with seizing off and on for hours. Teva's visit this time was peaceful, filled with a little small talk, a lot of interaction via touch, and long moments of companionable silence before he fell asleep again.

Brandon was alone the third time he woke up, but not for long. Teva wandered back in a few minutes later with something that smelled like not-plain hospital broth.

"How'd you know?" he asked, his voice a little rough as he sat himself up so he could eat whatever it was that she'd brought him.

"Because you're you," she answered. "I was a little limited in what I could get, hospital rules and all, but I did what I could."

He smiled, reaching back for a tray that didn't exist, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't in Peters' clinic. "Uh...I'm sure it's great," he said, trying not to look sheepish as he placed his hands back in his lap. Teva paid the mistake no mind, just wheeled the longer tray station away from the wall where this particular clinic liked to keep them.

"These guys are a little stricter," she informed him. "That means I couldn't sneak in a cupcake for you. You've got applesauce for dessert."

Brandon didn't mind all that much, just happy to have some lightly-flavored soy chicken teriyaki (more rice and less chicken, but still good) instead of soup, and Teva did manage to get him some extra cinnamon on the applesauce. He went back to sleep full and perfectly content, and the next day he was able to go home after another healing treatment and a small prescription of his favorite non-addictive painkillers in case he needed it. Jill also made sure to upload an audio list of do's and do not's into his comm so he'd have it in person instead of just depending on Teva to keep him in check.

Listening to the instructions on the car ride home, Brandon quickly realized that it basically came down to "don't do anything" and "do a bunch of nothing." He gave himself a day before he would be cheating his list. He'd been following similar directions for way too many weeks after his coma, and now that he had his Enhancer back online he was just that much more enthused about being a step closer to his old self. Telling him to not use it for a couple days was like telling a kid not to play with his robot puppy that he just got for Christmas. That just wasn't going to happen.

Getting into a little mischief wasn't going to be a problem for him today though. By the time Teva rolled him through the apartment door, he was pretty much ready to go into hibernation mode for the rest of day. He did wake up in time for dinner-another light meal consisting of baked potato and thin steak substitute, _and_ a bowl of vanilla ice cream-but couldn't even make it through one full show on the trid before he was out again, dreaming of days when he could wake up whole and go back out in the field. Closer. He'd gotten himself one step closer, and it was enough to keep him anxiety-free and happy for the rest of the night.

The next morning, while Brandon was still asleep-a fact which amused Teva to no end since she was normally the late sleeper out of the two of them-Teva went running, and answered the calls that had come in on her comm last night.

Madden was wondering if they were still on for soap opera day. A few of her friends had invited her out to events that weekend. Even Switch had left a message, just checking in, seeing what was up. She promised herself that she'd go visit him soon; Teva kind of missed hanging out with the guy, even with as incomprehensible as his techno babble could sometimes be.

By the time she got back to the apartment, Teva could hear Brandon moving around in the bedroom. "Stay right there!" she called out from the living room. The movement stopped. Kicking her running shoes off, Teva strode back into the bedroom, and found Brandon guiltily half out of bed, caught in the act of maneuvering his wheelchair a little closer so that he could make the transfer. "Doctor's orders," Teva said smugly, and wheeled the chair away from him.

His hand, still extended out in front of him, grabbed uselessly at the air, then Brandon made a little whiny-type noise and laid back down. He groaned. "It's a conspiracy to kill me with boredom."

Teva lightly smacked his thigh until he lifted his legs back up onto the mattress. "Oh, stuff it, you big baby," she drawled, and leaned over to give him a little good morning kiss. "You need to rest, and I'm going to keep you in bed for as long as possible."

"Hmm..." Brandon hummed, and craned his neck for another kiss. "That has possibilities."

She snorted instead of giving into the laughter that bubbled up inside her, and squealed when a pair of hands suddenly clasped her butt and pulled her haphazardly onto the bed. "Brandon! No, absolutely not! You are-" Her words broke as Brandon's deft mouth found her neck, and licked off the cooling sweat.

Pursing his lips against her skin, he murmured, "You're all sweaty."

"I know," she agreed, and let out a shaky breath as Bran nibbled over the strong tendon in her neck. "I was running."

"That explains it," he murmured. "I was wondering where you were."

Teva knew she needed to distract him before he wound up convincing her that a little fun wasn't outside the parameters of 'do nothing'. Turning, she snagged his lips with her own, tasting the salt from her own skin, and they kissed for a long time until Brandon pulled away for necessary oxygen. It was her turn then to tease him, because her thoughts had taken a devious turn for how she could 'keep him in bed' and not violate the 'do nothing' doctor's orders. She licked over his Adam's apple and kissed the hollow between his collarbones. The lower she went, the more boneless he got, well, all except one certain part.

Fifteen minutes later, Brandon was laying there contentedly with a silly little grin on his face, and Teva got up for a second to go brush her teeth. When she came back, he said slowly, "Don't think I didn't see what you were doing there."

"It worked," she replied smugly. "Now go back to doing nothing, alright?"

"Alright," he sighed.

"Are you hungry?"

After a second, Brandon replied, "Starved."

"I'll make something," she said, and leaned over to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "Then I'm going to hop in the shower, okay?"

"'kay," he agreed, and tried to pretend he wasn't yawning as she left the room.

It was Brandon's turn for breakfast in bed. Teva made thin crepes stuffed with sweetened cream cheese and topped with real strawberries, which cost an arm and a leg but were totally worth the indulgence, plus an accompanying strawberry sauce and whipped cream. She also scrambled up an egg for both of them and made a few strips of fake bacon. Loading up the tray with all the dishes, plus a cup of soycaf and a glass of soymilk, she brought it all back into the bedroom.

"Incoming tray," she called lightly, enough to wake Brandon from his doze and get him to sit up. Setting it up over his lap, Teva sighed dramatically, "Now, I know how much you like your syrup, so I brought it, but try the crepes without it first, okay? They're my masterpiece."

Slipping on his glasses, Bran took a look at the tray, then smiled gratefully. "Thanks, angel."

"You're welcome," she replied, then turned to leave the room, not wanting to watch him destroy her beautiful crepes with unnecessary syrup. Plus, there was a plate of her own going cold on the kitchen counter. Of course, she'd bring it back into the bedroom with her, after a moment had passed where she wouldn't wince watching that waterfall of maple-stickiness drown her beautiful babies.

Brandon did as asked and tried the crepes without adding any syrup, and was actually pretty damn happy with how they tasted just with the strawberries, sauce, and whipped cream. He hadn't had real ones for a long time, and mixing the maple with the fruit topping would've messed it up. Instead, he left those alone and dumped the syrup all over his egg and bacon. Eggs and bacon were _always_ better with a little sugar on top.

"Huh," Teva remarked, sounding a little surprised as she came back in with her own tray to sit beside him. "I'm taking that as a silent compliment."

"Okay..." he said in confusion, one eyebrow arched as he shoved another bite of breakfast in his mouth. She didn't clue him in to what she had been referring to, but she seemed really happy for the time being so that was enough for him to shrug it off. Point for doing something good without him realizing it.

"My crepes, doofus," she informed him. "I was pretty positive the strawberries would be little, screaming Titanic victims by now."

Brandon barked out a laugh at that. "Nope, sailing conditions are one hundred percent perfect." He watched the smile spread further across her face before he scooped up another forkful, his eyes sparkling with mischief behind his glasses. "Or at least they would be if not for the big, black whirlpool they were about to hit. 'Oh god, help us! Noooooooo!'"

The bite of crepe was shoved into his mouth, followed next by a big gulp of soycaf, and ending with a smirk as Teva openly laughed at his antics and the squeaky voice he'd used for the doomed strawberries. She leaned over and gave him a quick little kiss, and didn't say one word about the poor bacon and egg that had been left at sea to their syrupy-drowning fate.

Afterwards, Teva cleared the mess with another strict order to stay put. The problem was that Brandon wasn't tired anymore at all. He wasn't tired, his head felt fine, and he'd been toying a little with consciously picking at accessing the information his newly improved Enhancer was storing without his really being aware of it. He found that he could replay the entire conversation back that he and Teva had engaged in during breakfast, which was just plain cool. Auditory memory was something he'd always been fairly good with naturally, but having everything so precisely spot on was a feature he wish he'd had asked for in the first place. There were a few 'runs he could think of where that would've come in handy.

Refocusing on his current predicament, he turned to glance at the placement of his chair across the room. Teva had moved his crutches out of reach too, sneaky devil woman. That must've happened in his sleep; he couldn't see those anywhere. She knew him too well, probably stashed them in a closet somewhere so he couldn't get at them from his shorty position in his chair...if he could use _that_. His timing had been terrible earlier, her shout to "stay right there!" catching him off guard so much that he was certain he must've looked like the kid who had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Now he really was stranded, unless-

"Teva!" he called, fully prepared to abuse the system. She came in looking fully prepared for whatever he had up his sleeve. It didn't worry him though; she couldn't fight him on this. "Unless you plan on actually playing nursemaid and bringing me a pot or something-which I would never eat out of again, just so you know, and that'd be a waste of a perfectly good pot-I need my chair. Or do you want to carry me to the bathroom? Personally, I'd kind of prefer that you didn't."

Ha! The look on her face already gave away the fact that he was going to win this one. Maybe.

"You can have your chair, but not your crutches. That means you will sit on the toilet and pee like a girl. Understand?" she said sternly.

"What's going to stop me from using the counter to stand up?" he pushed, clearly in the mood for a little playing with fire. Brandon tended not to do well with complete boredom.

Teva shot him a glare. "Don't think I won't come in there and watch," she threatened, making him drop the game. She sounded like she meant it.

Of course, then he just had to take that as a challenge. Once in the privacy of the bathroom he did exactly what she told him not to, for some reason feeling extra rebellious today, and made the attempt to stand up using the counter. Turned out the doc knew what she was talking about, and a wave of heavy dizziness had him right back in his chair half a second later. Being proven wrong sucked.

"Angel, I'm done," he announced in a semi-mumbled, somewhat humiliated fashion as he opened the door after peeing like a good little girl. Teva came in and got him, but bypassed the bedroom to bring him out to the couch. That made him feel better, knowing he could at least be a little involved in the daily activities instead of being trapped in the back room.

"Can you open the blinds?" he asked, pulling off his glasses. He still wasn't quite ready to do _absolutely_ nothing, and since he'd had to skip his light test in lieu of his Enhancer issues and surgery he figured now was as good a time as any to get in some practice. Nothing too advanced, no actual color drills or anything, but he could at least watch the Teva-blur moving around the apartment. It was enough to keep him occupied until he fell asleep again, at least.

* * *

**TBC…**


	10. Chapter 10

The Pitfalls and Perks of Cohabitation

Chapter 10

Pairing: Ghost/Feral

Rating: R

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to the makers of Shadowrun. Original characters (which are all of them) belong to me and Alex.

* * *

It was a slow morning at the Dalca-Wilson homestead. Teva had opened the blinds as Bran requested, letting the bright flow of golden sunshine paint the walls. She did some yoga and tai chi forms on the living room floor while Brandon watched and made the occasional leer despite the fact that he couldn't see her clearly. Still, it was the thought that counted, or at least that's how they both felt about it.

After that Teva spent some time doing her chores, and the darks hamper was full so she hauled it down to the laundry room. Most of the time Bran did the laundry because it was one of the chores where he didn't have to worry about fucking around with too much equipment. Neither of them talked about it, but that was nice for him, a boost to his confidence when he could get things done on his own. For that reason, one of Bran's other jobs was running the dishwasher and putting away the clean dishes. Obviously though, doing chores were temporarily forbidden to him, so that left Teva to step in, otherwise she wasn't going to have clean underwear tomorrow.

Once the load was in the washing machine, she plopped on the sofa next to Bran and decided to kiss up on him for a few minutes, to which he protested like a virginal girl. He looped his arms around her and let himself get sucked into it. It was nice to have his sweet girl back, being affectionate with him.

Later on, she called her dance studio and told her instructor that she wouldn't be able to make it that day, but that was alright. It was less of a class and more of a dance group. All of the students there had been dancing for many years, and quite a few were working dancers. Missing a meet-up wasn't going to affect her progress. It was less about that, and more about just being able to get together with a group of people who knew what they were doing and could keep up with each other.

The rest of the day was spent doing stuff around the apartment.

However, when Bran woke up from his nap in time for dinner, she could see how bored he was. As they ate, Teva suggested, "Why don't we go to the park? I'll teach you to play chess. It should be pretty easy for you to catch on now that you can insta-recall the rules. Then we can collect sticks and throw them in front of skateboarders. It'll be fun."

At that, Brandon barked out a laugh, and nodded. "That sounds like fun."

Brandon learned very quickly that he was _not_ good at chess. It wasn't that he didn't understand the rules of the game, or that his head was too fuzzy from surgery to concentrate properly, or even the fact that he was a complete amateur going up against a practiced opponent; it just wasn't his type of game. That was sort of funny to him considering he had no problems waiting out a mark, strategizing his moves before he made them out in the field, trying to think three steps ahead of the enemy. Doing it on a board with little pieces of wood when there was no risk involved was sort of...boring. There was also the fact that he couldn't see the colors of the squares or the pawns. If not for his Enhancer keeping track of whose pieces were whose he wouldn't be able to play this at all. That was the only perk to the game in his opinion-Enhancer practice.

"You're not really into this, are you?" Teva asked after she whooped him for the fourth time.

Brandon shrugged. "Guess I'm more of a poker player."

That was a game he could always get into, and could win. A lot. It was amazing how many little tells people had when they were playing a game of cards, and he was definitely a master at reading tells. Of course, poker was now an impossibility considering he couldn't tell the Suicide King from the Ace of Spades. It was just another one of his pastimes he'd lost to a bad encounter with a baseball bat.

"Skateboarders?" Teva suggested, apparently deciding to take pity on him. That put the smile back on his face, and he was all too happy to play stick basket as they meandered around the park picking up their ammo. Was it mean to set up traps for kids to fall over? Absolutely. Was it funny as all fuck? Absolutely. Skateboarders were annoying, and it wasn't like they were tripping up the younger kids anyway. Their targets were the older teens or young adults who could've gone over to the ramp park instead of getting in the way of the people trying to use the paths for walking or jogging like they were meant for.

The fact that he and Teva got such a kick out of being mean made Brandon reconsider the whole "good parent" thing. Maybe that wouldn't be such a great idea to teach their kids.

And the fact that he was actually thinking about "their" kids made him choke a little on his soda.

"Had enough excitement for one day?" Teva asked with an amused grin, having no idea what sort of long term, committed, permanent relationship thought had just passed through his head. Not that he didn't want the two of them to stay together for the rest of their probably short lives considering what they did for a living, but thinking of kids was like thinking of marriage, and that...just no. It was way too soon for those kinds of thoughts.

"Ice cream?" he asked, his eyebrows going up in that pleading way of his as he quickly changed the subject his mind was scrambling away from.

She rolled her eyes at him and said dryly, "Of course."

"That's a yes!" he beamed.

"That's sarcasm," she corrected. "But I'm kind of in a milkshakey mood, so consider yourself lucky."

They brought their shakes home and drank them on the roof, enjoying the cooler fall night. It was one of those evenings where a perfect breeze was passing through, the sounds of the city were more relaxing and less chaotic, and the sky would've been clear enough to see some of the brighter stars...if Brandon _could_ see stars. He missed that too, not being able to see what the sky looked like, if the moon was full or just a sliver of itself, if the clouds were making funny shapes or just passing through in thin lines, if there was a perfect bolt of lightning accompanying the sounds of thunder in a storm, if a rainbow arched overhead after the morning rain, or if night passed into day on a layer of red and orange, or purple and pink. It was funny the things a person never really appreciated until they were taken away.

Leaning back in his lawn chair he stared up at the void where something should have been, his glasses just catching the red tops of the New Orleans buildings at the bottom of his vision. Trying something else, he took the glasses off and grinned as he realized he _could_ see the stars, just inverted. The actual city lights, the really bright ones, were filtering through his busted vision in small blurs here and there. Everything else between them was dark very much like the night sky, making it seem like he was looking at the world upside down.

"What's so funny?" Teva asked, bringing it to his attention that he had been chuckling out loud.

With his finger he traced out a pattern amongst the odd lights he was capable of seeing. "New constellation. It's a turtle wearing a cowboy hat. I'm thinking I should call it Turtle Earp...or Doc Shelliday."

"And I'm thinking maybe it's time to get you to bed," Teva said with part uncertainty, part amusement.

"Oh, come on! Just look!" he laughed, and spent the next hour trying to point out the 'stars' as he saw them. Sometimes Teva would tell him he was nuts, other times he thought she might've actually been able to sort of visualize what he was getting at instead of just humoring him. Either way it was kind of fun, and by the time they did go to bed he was pleasantly wiped out. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, thrilled that the day had gone so well, wondering what the next day would have in store for him when he had a little more energy, and hoping that once he was back on track health-wise that he and Teva would continue to have good days instead of going back to the bad. He'd had enough bad in his life. It was time the universe paid him back with a little more good.

Late that night as the two of them laid in bed after enjoying the evening on the rooftop, Teva wistfully mourned the fact that chess wasn't a hobby the two of them would ever share. On the one hand, she wasn't really surprised. Her only opponents had ever been older people. Most people her own age preferred games played in the Matrix. Their idea of a strategy game was Empires of Blood IV.

Teva stifled a grin as she thought briefly of Switch, and the expression of shock he'd be wearing if he knew she actually knew what that was. Granted, she'd never played. It was another of those activities forbidden to her because of her stupid brain and its inability to cope with the modern world. But she knew what it was; she was a chronic eavesdropper, and a fairly common topic for discussions was entertainment.

Sometimes she really hated her affliction. It put a gap between her and the rest of her generation that she wasn't able to bridge, hence the reason why most of her friends were quirky individuals obsessed with history, ancient technology, and 'true art.' Was it a little snooty? Yeah, sure, but it wasn't like she could hang out with any cyber-freaks. They'd have nothing to discuss.

Snuggling closer to Bran in bed until he was forced to cuddle with her or get pushed off the mattress-she was feeling a little needy, alright?-Teva pushed her head into his shoulder and fell asleep.

That night her dreams were a little melancholic, done in black and white like an ancient movie, and when she woke, she felt some of that lingering sadness. Then Brandon made her crack up over their morning coffee as he told some elaborate story of a clusterfuck on a 'run involving coffee beans and a frantic getaway, and she felt better again.

He was good at that, she realized suddenly. Teva, despite all of her outward coolness, was emotionally tempestuous. It apparently ran in the family. Tamsin was bipolar, and Teva had anxiety issues (and some minor depression problems that she never admitted to aloud). She could literally think herself into a funk. That was one of the reasons why she kept herself so busy, idle hands being the devil's playground and all.

Speaking of...

"Do you feel okay enough for me to go to class today?" she asked, and swiped her finger through the puff of whipped cream on _his_ waffle. She smiled innocently at the look he shot her, and sucked her finger into her mouth, adding a little bit of seduction to the move because she just knew that behind those dark glasses, Brandon was watching her avidly.

He was as orally fixated as she was, maybe more so since he'd quit smoking. That left food as really his only outlet, because Bran wasn't a nail biter or an item-chewer. Habits like that could give him away on a 'run, so he had ruthlessly trained himself not to indulge in them at all.

After taking another drink from his tan, sweet coffee, Brandon nodded. "I'll be fine if you want to take off for an hour or two. Which class is it again?"

"The Sensei," Teva chuckled, referring to her master-of-many that primarily worked with different blade styles.

"So you two are going to swing giant chunks of sharpened metal at each other then?" he asked idly, swirling his finger through the syrup on his plate, then smearing it across her bottom lip. Brandon grinned at her consternation, and leaned in to lick her clean. That, of course, led to a kiss that was literally sweet.

When it ended, she turned back to her coffee to get the taste of syrup out of her mouth. Teva had already eaten her waffle, a fluffy golden thing drizzled with honey, flecked with cinnamon, and topped with a meager whipped cream puff as opposed to Bran's four little towers surrounding the fifth larger one in the center. He thought it was weird that she preferred honey to syrup on such things. Unfortunately, most restaurants didn't have honey anymore, just the fake syrup crap, so when she went out to eat, she used it by default. In any case, her already-devoured waffle was the reason for stealing some of Brandon's whipped cream to begin with.

"You got it, babe." Teva grinned and kissed his cheek. "Large, sharp things flying at high speeds inspiring much dodging and fancy maneuvering. I'm so excited!" A little happy squeal combination squeak escaped her at the end there like a whole-body exclamation point.

Brandon chuckled fondly, and squeezed her just a little where his hand curved over her thigh.

As she was taking another gulp of hot black gold, it occurred to Teva that maybe Bran shouldn't be left alone just yet. "Maybe you should come with," Teva blurted out after hurriedly swallowing, "Just in case. What do you think?" She tilted her head slightly to one side to stare at Brandon as he thought it over, because he probably knew what was better for him at this stage than she did.

"You know what? I probably _should_ go," Brandon decided after a little deliberation. If he stayed home he would just get bored and probably do something stupid that he'd later regret. Then there was that whole possibility that he'd have another moment like the terrifying one that had keyed him in to the Enhancer problem in the first place, and the fall in the kitchen where he'd been lucky he hadn't severely injured himself, and those few times that could've been bad if Teva hadn't been there to catch him. Granted he hadn't experienced any blackouts since getting out of surgery, but it was still relatively early in his recovery, and the dizzy spell he'd suffered the day before made him feel like being a little more cautious.

When Brandon got overly bored he tended to be a little _less_ cautious. That pretty much made the decision for him.

Then there was also the fact that he genuinely thought the class would be interesting to watch. It wouldn't be like the last time Teva had taken him to a gym where he couldn't see anything and therefore had no way of knowing what was going on. He'd be able to really observe this time, to see the way she measured up her opponent, adjusted her stance to prepare for the next best move, defended and attacked, the way she would learn and adapt. It'd be exciting to see it for once when he wasn't the one on the opposite end of that calculating brutality, or looking up from the ground after having been sick and beaten. Granted, this was a class and so it wouldn't quite be like watching her fight in real life, and she'd be using a weapon she wasn't as accustomed to handling as her guns or her own body, but nonetheless he was still excited about it. His angel fought like a jungle cat, and he loved that.

Studying the swordplay would also be fascinating in Brandon's opinion. Blades were his own first weapon of choice when they were practical, which unfortunately was not all that often in a world full of guns and explosives. Still, knife play had been his best means of defense outside of the rough-and-tumble fist-fighting he'd done as a kid. Nate had given him a little switchblade one year for his birthday when they'd been transferred down to Crenshaw, an area where knowing how to scrap with the best of 'em didn't quite cut it. Everyone was armed with something, and Brandon had learned very fast how to keep himself from being the one bleeding all over the ground...most of the time. He'd lost that first knife a year later in an ironically _West Side Story_-ish duel over a girl. He also learned a valuable lesson about the difference between love, shallow lust, and the importance of image to seventeen-year-old girls. She took off with the guy who'd won, leaving Bran to get himself to the nearest clinic in the area.

That had been a blessing in disguise. It just happened to be a DocWagon clinic young Brandon had wandered into where he'd had his first real interaction with a 'runner. It wasn't much, just conversation in the waiting room where they'd both been given patches to temporarily seal up their wounds, but it was the catalyst to Brandon's eventual lifestyle after Nate's suicide a few years later. If not for that knife fight, that loss that sent him to that clinic, that conversation with a stranger whom Brandon had targeted because the two of them looked similar enough to be possibly related, and therefore could be used to cover Bran's medical expenses with a few clever words spoken to the receptionist, Brandon might have led a very different lifestyle. Hell, it might've been him rotting in some prison cell right now for selling drugs and beating people's heads in with a baseball bat, or actually for committing a very violent murder that they didn't actually commit, but same difference. The point was that blade fighting had very much to do with the path he'd chosen to follow, was important to him as a 'runner and as a fighter, so getting to see masters perform the art on a much larger scale would probably be a very enjoyable thing to watch.

"You ready?" Teva asked after helping him get dressed, still trying to enforce the 'do nothing' protocol. That was probably for the best; he'd had another little dizzy spell when he'd stood to lean on her long enough to get his jeans pulled up. It wasn't as bad as the one in the bathroom the day before, but dizzy spells in general weren't typically good things. It was for that reason that he allowed Teva to do the whole bending down to tie his shoes for him thing. When they got back he'd let her do the whole Naughty Nurse Teva tending to him in the shower thing. There were _some_ perks to being under strict orders not to do anything.

"Whenever you are," he answered with a smile, and found that he was really, truly looking forward to this.

* * *

Kito's place was in an old building in Chinatown that used to be some kind of warehouse business. Teva brought the car around to the now-defunct loading bay and honked, then idled while the door slowly went up. Her little car zipped right in, and the door was lowered again.

This wasn't unusual behavior. The area they were in wasn't exactly known for its family-friendly atmosphere, and Teva's shiny, sleek car was a beacon for hoodlums to rob. It was safer simply to park inside. As soon as the door rattled back in place behind them, Teva was turning off the car, and stepping out excitedly. She was wearing stretchy running pants and sneakers for a change. Normally, the only time Teva wore running shoes was if she was heading out the door of their apartment for a quick jog. To go with the other items, she had on a navy blue tank top designed to wick away the moisture accrued by a hard workout.

Standing on the top of the loading bay was an older man who still somehow managed to look fit and capable. His hair, blond in youth, had gone silvery white, and his eyes were a pale blue like those of a wolf. He was wearing loose workout pants and an ancient t-shirt for some band, and standing there holding a sheathed katana in one hand at his side. He looked terrifyingly severe until a smile appeared in the midst of his trimmed, white beard, making his eyes crinkle up, revealing years of laughter forever stamped there.

Teva waved and shouted, "Hey, hey!" As Brandon stepped out of the car, she pointed over at him. "This is Brandon. He's like...my sig-ot."

Still smiling, Kito waved his free hand, and said, "Hello, Brandon. I'm Kito. So glad you could join us today."

Looking around at the set-up, Brandon smiled with a little furrow between his brows, and nodded. "Likewise. I'm eager to see what it is you guys do all day." He was still scanning the area with his eyes, and Teva wondered what the hell he was looking at. Then it hit her. The area was designed to load semi-trucks, so the platform was higher than the garage area. There wasn't exactly a ramp for the wheelchair, just a ladder with a few rungs.

"Hm, I didn't exactly think this out very well, did I?" she murmured to herself. Walking around the vehicle, Teva kissed Bran's cheek and whispered, "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Hang on a sec."

"Okay?" he asked uncertainly, hanging onto the door and wondering what the hell she was going to do.

Yanking the chair out of the trunk, Teva passed it up to Kito, who unflappably received and opened it. Calmly, he suggested, "Just take the ladder slowly. Teva, stand behind him in case he slips."

"Good plan," she agreed with a tiny eyeball roll and minimal sarcasm. Taking Brandon's elbow, they walked slowly to the ladder. It was probably a little strange for him without his arm crutches, and Teva compensated more than once for his balance, which was still off, until they reached the edge of the loading bay. Transferring his hands onto the ladder, Brandon started up, first placing one foot up on the rung. He seemed to struggle for a moment before finding his center and pushing up off the ground with the other one to raise that one up as well.

Teva kept herself poised and ready in the event that Brandon's strength failed him, but he was nothing if not stubborn. He wasn't about to let himself fail in front of a strange man, one that Teva clearly respected, if all the little tidbits she slipped into their conversations were any indication.

Up at the top, Kito offered his hand, and helped Brandon onto the platform and into his chair.

Teva took one look at his sweaty face, and his chest heaving with breath that he was trying to regulate, and felt awful. Then again, if he never pushed himself, he wasn't going to get any better, she reasoned. That made her feel marginally better, but she made a note to pick him up from the front of the building when they left.

Scrambling up the ladder after him, Teva brushed his shoulder as she whirled behind the chair to push him in a wordless apology.

Kito's calm blue eyes took in the display, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to Brandon and gave his own apology in a low, rumbling voice. "My sincerest apologies. I don't live in a building designed with easy access, I suppose. Part of that is because of the neighborhood. The rest is simply because I need the space for all the equipment." Gesturing with a wave of his hand, he pointed out the first floor, littered with punching bags, exercise equipment, and vast springboard floors for an easier surface to fight on. That, of course, was to say nothing of the weapons. Swords, axes, morningstars, knives, and more modern weapons encased and displayed elegantly on the walls. Anything with a blade on it could be found there. It was no wonder that it was one of Teva's favorite places to be.

Brandon offered a smile and small shake of the head to Kito as a response to the apology, forgoing speech as he continued to gradually get his breathing back under control. On the inside he was pretty much one big smile though. First, there was the fact that Teva had just blatantly encouraged him to break the day's rule of essentially "you can do a little more than nothing, but take it easy." Climbing a ladder had _not_ been easy, not when he still couldn't get around without the use of at least one of his crutches on a good day; in his current state he was still experiencing minor dizzy spells, and he hadn't been able to do much of his PT for the past week between the fear of having a blackout and his recovery after surgery, which meant he'd taken a little half step backwards in his goal of getting back into shape. That was actually the second reason he was so happy: he'd gotten himself up that ladder despite the added difficulties from surgery, so maybe he was at a point in his physical abilities where he could switch over to that cane once his brain was firing on all cylinders again (minus the busted sight cylinder, of course). The third reason he was so happy was because the gym was like a 'runner's toy box as long as the 'runner liked sharp and/or pointy objects, which Brandon very much did. So basically he was surrounded by fun objects, was on the right track that he was doing much better physically, and his gal had just allowed him to step outside the lines. It was starting off as a pretty damn good day.

As he scanned the weaponry, a strange old blade mounted high on a wall up above its thick wooden sheath caught his eye. "What's that one?" he asked, pointing so the weapon master would know where he was looking. With his glasses on it was sometimes hard for other people to know where his line of sight was, especially since technically he wasn't even really using his eyes to see what was in front of him.

"Ah, that is called a Wedong," the elder man explained patiently. "An antique Javanese ceremonial piece for court only. It was never to be used for combat."

"Huh, kind of big and scary looking for just a dress accessory, isn't it?" Brandon asked with a surprised tilt to his head.

Kito laughed at that. "Yes, it is, which is why they are so hard to find. Nice to look at, not very practical for its intended purpose."

"Right," Brandon agreed a little absently, continuing his curious perusal of the other decorative pieces. "Can I look closer? I'll keep the chair off the floors."

"Of course," Kito granted with a slight bow. "If you have questions I will be more than happy to answer them after our session. Teva?"

With another squeeze to Brandon's shoulder, this one more just affectionate and less apologetic, Teva eagerly stepped forward, ready to go. Brandon sort of became a little invisible after that as Kito began to instruct his student on what he wanted her to do first, starting with a simple warm-up. That was good. It would give Brandon a little more time to check out the gym and all its shinies before the real training began. That was what he _really_ wanted to see, a master swordsman practicing his craft.

Kito had apparently decided that their first lesson of the day was going to center around fencing, so Teva was instructed to gear up. This was the only time they wore protective padding for their bouts, because unlike the aluminum blades they practiced with in iaido and tantojutsu, the fencing foils could cut. Sure, they were capped, but their blades were still sharp enough to wound if the right amount of force and speed was applied. Normally professional fencers wore gear that included thick pantaloons and knee socks as well as the traditional jacket and mask. Kito and Teva both disliked the restrictiveness of the pants, and as such, they wore the protective jacket and mask, but nothing else.

The fabric of the white jacket was very thick, designed with a particular weave to prevent any accidental cuts. She zipped it up right over her clothes, and then reached for the head gear, the white domed helmet with the mesh face piece.

Kito was finished and on the sparring mat before her, but that wasn't unusual. He was well-versed at putting on and taking off the cumbersome gear, whereas Teva normally fought wearing as little armor as possible. There was a risk in that, of course, but she liked to think that a bulletproof jacket was more than enough to see her through any dangerous situation in the field.

Her favorite foil was one with a guard on it that flared a little wider in the middle, protecting her hand from any wayward pointy objects. It was simple in comparison to some of the items that Kito had in his collection, built for function, not decoration. She plucked it off the wall from the rest of the fencing foils, testing the balance though she knew probably the last person to touch it had been her.

Walking quickly and quietly, Teva stepped onto the mat, an improvised runway on the normal springboard floor whose boundaries were outlined with cream colored masking tape on the carpet. If they stepped outside the lines, a point would go to the opposition.

Her instructor settled into the en garde position, one foot in front of the other. He favored his right hand, so he led correspondingly with his right foot. The left was perpendicular behind him, knees slightly bent, weapon raised. Teva started with her right as well, but kept the thought of switching to her left later on in the back of her mind. It threw Kito off a little when she did that, seeing how he wasn't really ambidextrous and was used to having to cross slightly in his thrusts to get around her right-handed block. Using her left hand forced him to recalculate moves that were instinctual for him and well-practiced.

At first she let him take the lead, advancing with his right foot heel first, then bringing his left behind him. Teva moved correspondingly, retreating with her left foot still in its horizontal position and following backwards with her right, toes still pointed toward her opponent. She was watching Kito's wrist like he'd admonished her many times over, so she saw the turn and the forward flick, and sent her blade to the side so the blow would glance off to the side, missing her entirely.

Behind his mask, she could see Kito observing, feel him gathering data on her movements and state of mind, and conclude that she was very focused today, probably because she had an audience present and her pride demanded that she do her best under those circumstances. As one, they retreated from each other and set to try again.

Teva had found over the course of many lessons that sword-fighting was a lot like chess in that it was primarily fought in the mind. Sure, it demanded physical responses, but a lot of the bout was testing each other's limits and responses, setting each other up for that perfect moment when they'd drop their guard and you could get a point on them. Sometimes she and Kito would spend long minutes just analyzing each other stances and minuscule movements, studying their opponent, then changing their own moves in response before anything was even executed. It wasn't the heated rush she felt in a firefight, where she became ninety percent instinct and ten percent logic.

They had been studying each other for some indeterminate amount of time before either of them really moved, faking each other out and trying to get one or the other to step out of bounds, when Kito struck. He danced forward in a quick motion, and she brought her foil up to guard, only at the last minute he switched his attack's direction and tapped her jacket on her shoulder.

"Damn," she hissed under her breath, and stored that move in her memory for future reference.

"Try blocking with your handle guard more instead of deflecting with your blade," Kito suggested as they got back into the en garde position. "You can redirect that faster than the whole length of the foil."

"Noted," she replied, clipped and with that competitive edge creeping into her tone.

The next point went to her after Kito advanced, and she blocked his lunge with a low guard position, her blade diagonal in front of her body, and his tip sliding with a little screech along her guard. It was an unusual block. Even most professional fencers avoided using it because it was difficult to get out of, but Teva had chosen it deliberately. Taking advantage of the face that Kito was still sitting in his lunge, she rotated her wrist back upright, flinging his blade back toward his body as it skittered along hers, and then torqueing herself further as she snapped forward in her own lunge and tapped him over his heart.

She always went for kill shots. After all that time, all that training, it was just habit, she supposed.

"Nice," her instructor grunted, and they slid back into their en gardes back at their separate starting lines.

Kito got a few hits on her when she dropped her guard too soon and gave away the fact that she was about to lunge, which she was admonished for. "Remember, not until you're in striking distance. Anything else just gives your opponent time to prepare."

Teva chalked it up to her still getting used to a foreign combat style that it took numerous rebukes for the message to sink into her head.

The best part of the bout, she thought, came right at the end. They were standing knees bent in line with where their toes were pointing, and she felt Kito start to move before she saw it. Instead of defending like she usually had, Teva decided to meet the advance with her own, hopping forward quickly, and getting her foil in the three position block, guard out to meet the blade so it slid off to the side of her body. She redirected her blade at her instructor's helmet, but Kito managed to slide his saber up underneath her blade, meeting the overhead strike.

Retreating two steps back, Teva found herself followed as Kito came forward to strike again. She managed to block that one as well with a simple chest guard, but her instructor kept coming, trying to force her with his advance off the mat and into the out of bounds area. Teva's stubbornness rose up, and the exchange that followed involved a lot of quick almost-hits and even tighter blocks. She won a step back onto the runway, but they were too close from the fast parries. As his foil slid past her body, Teva took a risk, and she brought her foil up high, then point down to tap approximately the middle of his back.

They disentangled themselves, panting a little from the exertion, and through her helmet, Teva asked, "Can I do that? Is that legal?"

Slipping off his helmet, white hair wild and sticking up with sweat, Kito nodded. "You can," he said, tucking the head gear underneath his arm, and moving to put up his saber. "It's not often that the players get close enough to do so in a match, but it's perfectly legal. Anywhere on the upper body is, including the head."

Teva slipped her own helmet off, and paced off the mat to put her preferred blade up in its spot as well, and her head gear back where it belonged in the neat little row of like helmets. The heavy jacket was next, and underneath the thick white fabric, she was sweating, and glad that despite the cooling weather, all she'd worn was a tank top.

Plopping tiredly on a bench on the side of the room, she waited as Kito disappeared into the office to fetch some waters from the fridge in there. Tilting her head toward Bran in the moments that her instructor was gone, she asked her boyfriend with a little smile, "So what'd you think? Interesting? Wanna take lessons? You totally wanna take lessons when you're feeling up to it, don't you? It's okay to admit it, Kito's pretty awesome."

Brandon opened his mouth, closed it again, and turned his head away a little bit. What had started off as very exciting became both exciting but a little depressing at the same time. He loved watching the dance that Teva and Kito were performing, the way their bodies moved in reaction to the cues the other person was giving. Fencing was much more graceful than his own style of knife fighting, which was pretty much done in the same way that he fought when he was unarmed. It was all technique he picked up on the street, fast, strong, but a little wild and unpredictable. He was good at it because he was good at reading people, other technically _untrained_ people, but he'd get his ass kicked if he ever went up against someone like Kito. To add formal style to his otherwise chaotic method of combat would've been of great help to Brandon should the need ever arise again for him to use his blades.

The problem was that when Teva and Kito had picked up the pace, when they were really swinging those blades at one another, the weapons pretty much disappeared in Brandon's ultrasonic vision for tiny little spurts of time. A person with healthy sight would've said the weapons were blurred for those short moments when a wrist was flicked just right, or a quick swing was made to bring the blade around. To the non-combatant, they would've said that those half seconds of time here and there where the blades disappeared shouldn't have been a big deal. Those people would've been wrong, deadly wrong. For Brandon, a half second where he'd lose complete sight of the opposing weapon was an opportunity for his opponent to take advantage of his weakness. Unnatural blind spots at the edge of a person's vision _could_ get someone killed; blind spots in a person's direct line of sight were a guaranteed death warrant.

"Brandon?" Teva pressed, with that curious concern edging into her tone.

Shifting his fake gaze down to his hands, Brandon blew out a little huff of air as he tried to think of a way to offhandedly admit to yet another activity he'd lost to his injury. He settled on simply saying, "Sound doesn't travel as fast as light."

Teva was quiet for a few seconds, probably processing what it was he was trying to say. When she did get it, it surprised Brandon that her reaction was to laugh. He snapped his head up, a bit in shock. She was _laughing_ at him, at his disability, something he never thought she would do, and it _hurt._

"It's not funny," he snapped, wanting nothing more than to roll himself right out of that gym if he had somewhere to go. "I can't see the blades, Teva. How the hell am I supposed to fight if I can't see?"

His demeanor seemed to sober her up pretty quickly, and she placed a hand on his knee. He almost pushed her hand away, he was that upset by her behavior, but instead forced himself to sit still, to try to calm down and hear her out.

"Brandon," she said in that serious tone she got when she was about to tell him something she considered to be super important. "I'm not laughing because you can't see. I'm laughing because when I started this training I was always getting lectured for watching the blade instead of watching my opponent. I'm almost jealous that you get to bypass the hardest part."

"No, it's not-" Brandon clenched his jaw slightly in irritation, still agitated that she'd laughed at him. So maybe it wasn't at his blindness after all, which made it a little better. Just a little. What didn't make it any better was that this was just another of those situations where she wasn't able to understand where he was coming from, what his fears were. "I _know_ it's more about watching the other guy. That's what I do, not just in combat but all the time. That's my job. With a knife it's easier, the blade's shorter, just a few inches longer than the hand. I get that. One of those?" He pointed at the particular weapon that Teva had mounted back on the wall. "That's almost three extra feet, and the end whips. How the hell am I supposed to figure out where the tip's going to land if I can't ever see the whole picture?"

A voice other than Teva's answered the question. "Practice," Kito said, handing Teva a bottle of water. "Forgive me. I was not privy to the full conversation, nor did I intend to be privy to the last part, so I apologize if I am overstepping my bounds. However, if this is a question in regards to your ability to learn, I do believe I would be best suited to answer to it."

Brandon sighed again, not knowing if the old man had picked up on his inability to see. Wearing sunglasses indoors was not necessarily an oddity, not when people used them as PAN gear on such a regular basis. Hell, Switch lived in his red-tinted glasses almost as much as Brandon depended on the ultrasonics.

Certain that Teva hadn't said anything, and unsure of what exactly Kito had heard or how he'd interpreted the last part of the discussion, Brandon made the decision to just go ahead and clear up any confusion. Slowly, he pulled off his glasses so Kito could see for himself the way that Brandon's eyes wouldn't focus properly on anything he was looking at.

The red world disappeared instantly, replaced with what was now a mass of swirling semi-color. It was better than the mostly gray he'd started with, but it was also more confusing in trying to sort out what was real and what was just his brain making an attempt to fill in missing information. The only things he could be certain he was perceiving correctly were areas of light and shadow, more tuned in to artificial light now as opposed to only just the bright sunlight; and movement. As long as something or someone was moving he could always pick it up in bright light, and had gotten much better at seeing it in lower light levels, as well. At the moment nobody was really moving though, so Brandon was stuck with trying to pull out what were people shapes amongst the changing light/dark color scheme that was his vision, and what might have been either glimpses of real gym gear or just imaginary scene fillers.

"I'm blind," he stated outright. "So I guess that's the question we're trying to answer. Can you teach a blind man how to fight?"

"Anyone can learn how to fight," Kito replied placidly.

Teva quietly withdrew her hand from Brandon's knee, and while he still had his glasses off, she scooted an inch or two further away from him.

His attitude had hurt her, she supposed, not that she'd ever admit to it. Granted, she didn't always have the most appropriate or well thought out reactions on the planet. Her laughter could have been easily misconstrued for something more vicious. Still, she didn't feel that it deserved the tongue lashing she'd gotten.

It didn't take long to go back to the fighting, did it?

So Teva sat quietly, and let Kito speak, even though she would have said pretty much the same thing as him. Only her words would have resulted in some kind of emotional explosion from Brandon, as pretty much anything other than sex and pointless chit-chat did (she'd chit-chatted more in the time she had known Brandon than her whole life). Kito would actually be heard, maybe because Brandon considered him more of a 'professional' than he considered Teva.

She tried not to resent that, but it was a futile battle.

"I have seen blind men, deaf men, men with only one arm or one leg learn how to fight," Kito continued, pacing along his equipment, visually scanning it to make sure everything was in order and in top condition.

Teva wrenched off the cap on her water and took a long drink.

"They learn how to compensate for their disabilities. Your mask allows you a kind of sight, does it not?" Kito asked curiously. He paused at his collection of tantos, the ancient-style knives that the old samurai and ninja took into battle against one another. Next to it were the aluminum practice blades, which were dull and very difficult to draw blood with. They were designed that way, of course. Teva knew then that their next lessons would be in tantojutsu.

Tantojutsu was a quicker martial art than fencing. It was designed for heated battle, not one-on-one dueling-style combat. The tanto was relied upon for discreet carry, and quick, brutal deaths. The first ninjas had developed the style to fight against their oppressors, namely the samurai and the warlords. They were peasants that waged war in secret. Many of their weapons were improvised or created specifically for them later on. No one but a samurai was allowed to carry a katana back then, so to combat this great advantage, the ninja created the ninjato, a slightly shorter sword made using the same folding technique, though without the subtle curve in the blade. They also utilized the tanto more, making such a simple tool into a weapon as deadly as the katana itself.

Brandon answered Kito in a careful voice, "It does, but there are limits to what it can do. I can't see the blade when it moves fast."

"That's not the worst thing ever," Kito replied unthinkingly, and Teva saw Brandon's lips tighten a little at the man's casual response to his disability. "You can see my hand. You can see how I grip the hilt. If you understand the length of the saber, and the angle and position of my hand, then you can parry. You can predict where the blade will go, and move in response. The only thing you'd need to work on then is your timing. Frankly, it's not that much different from any other student I have. Teva..." Her instructor paused, threw her a mischievous little smirk, and then continued to rat her out to her boyfriend. "When Teva first started, she was like you, wanting to watch the blade, but the blade is not a good indicator by itself. As you mentioned, when you move very quickly, it almost seems to disappear. Watching the hand is far more accurate. It took many lessons for Teva to really get in that habit, and now she does it almost unthinkingly. It's also improved her knife-fighting."

As Kito continued talking, Teva got up, and decided that maybe she ought to go hide in the bathroom for awhile while the blade-master kept talking. It would be easier to bury her feelings if she was sitting right next to the cause of them.

The restrooms were across from the office. They were the old public ones that used to be available for the factory workers. Now they doubled as locker rooms for Kito's classes.

The old instructor did hold classes with multiple students, but Teva preferred private instruction. It didn't matter to her if she paid for it at a premium. It was worth it to watch her skills improve that much faster for it.

She splashed cool water on her face, and maybe stayed in there a little longer than she needed to, fighting off the feelings inspired by this latest spat, the insecurities, the wonder if maybe this was all a big mistake. She was bad at being around other people, knew this from experience. Maybe Teva had already lit the fuse and this was all about to blow up in her face, like things usually did. Murphy's law. Sometimes she thought she was cursed with it.

Brandon put his glasses back on so he could pay better attention to what Kito was saying, listening to the man speak but not failing to notice Teva's disappearance. Inadvertently he began to analyze the situation just like he did after studying a mark for a little bit, placing his girlfriend in that group once again without really meaning to. In this case though, it wasn't out of stress or the need to protect himself; it was just an instinctual reaction to another person's observed pattern, a person he had chosen to be close to.

He'd been noticing that she tended to flee whenever things got a little heated between them, when she couldn't or didn't want to fight back. In this case it was to save face in front of her instructor, Brandon knew that, but would she have done it at home, or would this little incident have turned into a battle? It really all depended on whether she would've thought he was stable enough to handle a fight, if he was physically and mentally strong enough to put up with words and actions that would be hurtful. She probably didn't even realize that he'd figured that much out, forgetting that he read people's patterns for a living. She was underestimating him, much like her running away when she thought he couldn't handle something was underestimating where his limits were.

Then again, maybe he was the one to blame for that. Brandon knew he was quick to react to certain things, was overly touchy with certain subjects, probably too easily hurt by other people's responses to certain stimuli.

Scratch that, he was too easily hurt by _Teva's_ responses. Thinking about it now, that was probably their biggest issue. Maybe he expected too much from her, the one person he'd allowed into his full psyche since Nate, really. She was supposed to fill some grand void that had been empty since his cousin's death, a part of Brandon that had been empty for most of his adult life that he hadn't even been aware of until she'd stepped into the picture. Maybe he expected her to understand him on the same level that his cousin had, to know him inside and out, to be able to accurately interpret exactly where his limits were, when to push past his initial sensitivities and insecurities in a way that didn't actually escalate the situation, and when was the appropriate time to withdraw from the confrontation.

That wasn't fair, was it? No one could know that much because no one but Nate had lived through the scenario that had made Brandon act the ways that he did. That was why hiding, bottling, not reacting, leaving the room; all those things were better than expecting Teva to understand, than being further hurt when she couldn't. But she didn't want that, she wanted him to be open and honest with his feelings...only she didn't really want that either, it seemed. She ran away when he put himself out there, ran or got angry, then came back whenever the two of them could just move on and pretend like nothing happened.

Maybe that was also part of the problem. Brandon was letting himself feel secure in the fact that Teva _would_ eventually come back, and maybe that scared him a little bit too. He was pushing, testing, and using her as his emotional punching bag all in one. Part of him felt safe in snapping at her, reacting more harshly to things she said and did so he could let out some of his frustrations at the world without fear of any real repercussions. They could scream at each other all they wanted and she'd always come back. On the other hand, part of him was terrified that she _wouldn't_ come back, that one day he'd wake up and she'd just be gone from his life forever. He doubted it'd be a situation where he'd come home to find a wall painted with blood and gore, a half headless body slumped below it, but she could disappear just as quickly, just as easily if she wanted to. The thought of having to face that sort of reality in a strange environment where he was surrounded by strange people didn't sit well with him. He was probably subconsciously distancing himself, making things more difficult for both himself and Teva just so he could be prepared to pull up and head home to LA when everything fell apart.

_If_ everything fell apart, he corrected mentally, feeling a sudden little tightness in his chest at the thought. _If._

"...but first you must be paying attention if you want to learn anything at all," Kito said, bringing Brandon's focus back to the conversation.

"I was paying attention," he replied easily, and proceeded to rattle back everything the sword-master had just lectured him on in regards to watching body language, and the little history about other blind fighters, and the lengths of some of the weapons from hilt to tip, and ended the quick summary with pulling out his own preferred knife from under his pant leg. Kito had asked about it just before stating that Brandon hadn't been listening.

"It was a gift from Teva," he added fondly, turning slightly towards the hallway where he'd heard Teva stepping back into the room. She hesitated there for a second, making Brandon feel more than a little guilty about snapping at her, especially considering the line of thought his mind had just taken him on. He hadn't been fair, shouldn't have taken out his shame of not being able to see the blades on her, and he shot her a little apologetic smile in hopes that she'd see that he knew that. He genuinely didn't want to always be thinking 'if' or 'when.' He wanted them to work.

Kito studied the blade for a moment before catching Brandon's attention to hand it back. "That's a good choice, good weight and balance. If you choose to learn I will start with a style that will improve your ability to brandish your chosen weapon more accurately."

"Thank you," Brandon replied, more relieved than he thought he would be at the notion of having to somewhat relearn a skill he already thought he had. "Sorry for interrupting your lesson."

"No apologies necessary. You had a valid concern." Kito turned to Teva and waved her over. "Stop dawdling in the hallway, girl. Now we need to make up for lost time."

* * *

**TBC…**


End file.
